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BN1V.  OF  CAtlF.  I.IB«»«V.  T.OS  AWB 


The 

VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 


BY 


BLANCHE    UPRIGHT 


NEW  YORK 
W.  J.  WATT   &   COMPANY 


PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1922,  BY 
W.  J.  WATT  &  COMPANY 


, 

Printed  i*   the   United  States  of  Amertc* 


WITH  LOVE  AND  DEVOTION 

I  DEDICATE  THESE  PAGES 

TO 


MY  BELOVED  INSPIRER 


2133323 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 


CHAPTER    I 

OVER  the  immaculate,  freshly  ironed  white  cot- 
ton cloth  on  the  little  table  set  near  the  window 
in  the  kitchen-dining  room  of  the  Bentons'  tiny 
bungalow,  a  paper-shaded  lamp  glowed  rosily.  From 
its  tempered  rays,  the  plated  knives  and  forks  and 
spoons,  polished  to  a  shine  that  forgave  the  nickel 
spots  of  usage,  caught  a  pinkish  tinge,  and  the  bowl 
of  wild  roses  from  its  place  of  state  in  the  center  of 
the  table  returned  blush  for  blush. 

But  neither  the  rosy  light,  nor  the  roses  them- 
selves had  anything  to  do  with  the  bright  flush  that 
adorned  Marjorie  Benton's  face  as  she  arose  from 
in  front  of  the  oven  of  her  brightly  shining  kitchen 
stove.  She  felt  of  her  burning  cheek  with  the  back 
of  her  hand.  The  twittering  remonstrance  of  her 
canary  in  its  cheap  little  brass  cage,  disturbed  by  the 
metallic  clang  of  the  closing  oven  door,  turned  her 
gaze  in  his  direction.  She  shook  her  head  ruefully. 

"More  cooking  for  women  and  there'd  be  less 
rouge,  eh,  Andy?"  she  asked,  and  an  understanding 
"tweet-tweet"  was  her  reply.  Her  glance  wandered 
to  the  small  alarm  clock  tick-ticking  merrily  from 
the  shelf  above  her  head. 

"Another  ten  minutes,"  she  murmured.  The 
slowly  moving  hands  of  the  time  piece  marked  off 


2  THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

seven  minutes  after  six.  "Hugh  should  be  here  then, 
and  he  does  so  like  his  roast  just  out  of  the  oven. 
Hmml  So  do  I — "  she  went  on,  but  a  cross  little 
look  of  dawning  discontent  crept  into  her  eyes  as 
she  glanced  at  the  stove  distastefully, — "except  that 
I  surely  would  like  to  have  someone  else  take  it  out 
for  me,  for  a  change.  Wonder  if  we're  ever  going 
to  have  a  maid,  or  if  I'm  just  naturally  to  dry  up 
and  brown  to  a  crisp  bending  over  a  stove  all  my 
life!"  ^ 

Again  she  felt  of  her  burning  cheeks,  as  she 
turned  toward  the  neatly  set  table.  A  mended  spot 
in  the  table  cloth  caught  her  eye.  She  smoothed  it 
over. 

"Cotton!"  she  said,  plaintively.  "Just  plain  cot- 
ton! I  can  pretend  it's  linen  all  I  want  to,  but  it 
don't  change  the  threads,  nor — ,"  and  she  lifted  a 
knife  with  its  silver  worn  undisguisedly  off  the  end 
and  tried  the  effect  of  turning  it  over.  She  frowned 
at  the  poor  pretense. 

She  turned  back  to  the  stove  and  picke'd  up  the 
dish  cloth  she  had  been  using  as  a  holder.  Her 
hand  went  toward  the  kettle  that  simmered  con- 
tentedly, a  contrast  to  the  simmering  thoughts  of  the 
pretty  woman  who  glanced  at  it. 

"I  wonder — "  she  began,  half  aloud. 

She  stopped,  listening,  the  dish  cloth  dangling  in 
her  hand.  With  a  hurried  gesture  she  dropped  it, 
and  was  across  the  room  to  the  door  that  led  into 
her  hallway.  Just  a  moment  more  she  listened,  her 
head  with  its  fair  curls  pressed  against  the  door. 
Then  she  opened  it  and  tiptoed  quietly  through, 
closing  it  noiselessly  behind  her. 

Before  the  closed  nursery  door  she  stopped  once 
more.  Unmistakable  sounds  from  within  proved 
that  wee  ones  behind  that  portal  were  not  spending 
their  time  in  earned  repose.  Marjorie's  half  frown 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT  3 

was  chased  away  by  an  indulgent  smile  of  mother 
love.  Then  she  opened  the  door  and  entered  the 
room. 

"Children!"  she  cried,  as  sternly  as  she  had  ever 
brought  herself  to  command.  "Dear  little  people, 
what  does  this  mean?  Mother  can't  have  this,  you 
know.  It's  sleepy  time." 

From  one  of  the  two  white  cribs  surrounded  by 
their  halo  of  the  last  rays  of  the  September  sun  came 
a  little  wail.  Two-year  old  Elinor  Benton  distinctly 
disapproved  of  something — perhaps  of  going  to 
bed  at  all  while  the  sun  still  shone. 

From  the  other  crib  another  brown  tousled  head 
bobbed  up.  Its  owner  sat  erect.  Master  Howard 
Benton  was  reasoning  that  if  his  little  sister  who 
was  only  two  should  be  receiving  attention,  what 
then  was  his  due  at  the  mature  age  of  four. 

Marjorie  Benton's  thoughts  flew  to  the  kitchen 
she  had  just  quitted,  the  flush  from  her  oven  still  on 
her  face.  Everything  was  all  right  there  for  a  few 
minutes,  she  knew.  She  did  not  approve  of  taking 
babies  from  their  beds  once  they  were  tucked  in  for 
the  night,  but  surely  this  once  she  could  not  refuse. 
Her  glance  rested  softly  on  Elinor's  curly  head  and 
her  pleading  eyes.  Then  she  lifted  her  gently  and 
sat  down  with  her  in  the  low  rocker.  Baby  Elinor 
snuggled  in  the  protecting  arms  and  though  she  felt 
that  she  may  not  have  been  doing  the  prescribed 
thing,  Marjorie  Benton's  eyes  were  soft  and  her 
voice  caressing  as  her  hold  tightened  on  her  baby 
and  she  began  softly  to  sing. 

As  she  sang,  the  girl-mother's  :eyes  wandered 
about  the  room,  resting  on  the  dado  of  Mother 
Goose  pictures  where  more  than  one  darkened  spot 
proclaimed  an  interest  and  love  for  a  particular  story 
book  personage.  What  babies  Howard  and  Elinor 
were  1  And  they  were  hers !  Hers !  And  Hugh's  I 


4          THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

Her  hold  tightened  the  least  bit  on  the  baby  in  her 
arms,  who  was  drifting  off  to  dreamland. 

The  reverberation  of  the  front  door  closed  cau- 
tiously brought  the  mother  back  from  drifting. 
Hugh!  She  must  hurry. 

This  time  the  child  made  no  protest  as  she  was 
placed  in  her  little  crib  and  tucked  in.  But  she 
stopped  long  enough  to  place  a  kiss  on  the  hair  of 
each  baby  before  she  lowered  the  shade  and  tip- 
toed out. 

Her  hands  gave  a  quick  pat  to  her  own  curls  as 
she  flew  up  the  hallway  to  greet  Hugh  Benton.  He 
had  shuffled  out  of  his  light  coat  and  turned  from 
hanging  it  on  the  hall  rack  with  his  arms  extended  to 
his  wife. 

"H'lo,  sweetheart!"  was  his  tender  greeting,  but 
there  was  all  the  fervor  in  the  bear-like  squeeze  he 
gave  her  as  she  ran  into  his  arms  that  there  ever 
had  been  in  the  earlier  days  of  their  honeymoon. 
The  Bentons  were  fond  of  remarking  that  their 
honeymoon  was  only  extended. 

Hugh  Benton  raised  his  head  and  looked  over 
his  wife's  shoulder. 

"Urn!  Dinner!"  he  exclaimed  with  a  boyish  grin. 
"Pie!  Your  dinners  are  always  wonderful,  dear- 
est." And  Hugh  gave  his  shiny-haired  wife  another 
hug. 

"Hugh!  Please!"  Marjorie  struggled  out  of  his 
arms.  "You  don't  know  how  strong  you  are.  You 
almost  hurt  me — and  do  please  be  quiet — the  kid- 
dies are  asleep." 

"Already?"  Hugh  Benton's  tone  and  eyes  were 
full  of  disappointment.  "No  romp  to-night?  Seems 
like  I  never  do  get  much  of  a  chance  for  a  frolic 
any  more." 

So  genuine  was  the  young  father's  disappointment, 
that  Marjorie  tempered  the  laugh  she  gave. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT  5 

"Big  babyl"  she  chided,  lovingly.  "It's  not  hard 
to  see  who  wants  the  romp  most.  But  dinner  will 
do  you  more  good,  just  as  sleep  will  do  them.  I 
can't  be  having  my  family  spoiled,  you  know." 

"Right,  dear, — just  as  you  always  are.  Be  with 
you  in  a  minute — some  of  the  grime  of  an  honest 
working  man  has  to  come  off  first." 

Marjorie  Benton  hurried  to  her  dinner  serving, 
and  as  she  placed  the  roast  on  the  white  cloth,  her 
eyes  were  tender  as  she  heard  the  masculine  splash- 
ing from  the  bath  room  and  the  soft-pedaled  whis- 
tling that  accompanied  it. 

She  whispered  again  softly.  "Who  could  help 
loving  him.  It's  enough  to  make  me  the  happiest 
woman  in  the  world  to  know " 

Her  husband's  entry  broke  in  on  her  reverie,  and 
it  filled  her  with  all  the  pride  of  accomplishment  to 
see  the  glance  of  delight  with  which  he  took  in  the 
simple  tempting  dinner.  He  leaned  over  to  kiss  her 
as  he  placed  her  in  her  chair — a  small  attention  he 
had  not  discarded  since  the  first  days  of  their  mar- 
riage. 

"Wonderful  little  woman!"  he  complimented 
softly.  "More  wonderful  every  day." 

She  gave  his  hand  a  gentle  pat,  but  tried  to  put 
a  depth  of  dignified  remonstrance  in  her  chiding. 

"Don't  forget  you're  a  married  man  of  five  years' 
standing,  Mr.  Hugh  Benton,"  she  urged,  but  the 
laughter  in  her  eyes  belied  the  dignity  of  her  words. 

"So  long!"  Hugh  took  up  the  carving  knife  and 
glanced  along  its  sharpened  edge.  "You've  a  fine 
idea  of  time,  Mrs.  Marjorie  Benton.  Now  I'd  say 
five  days — "  His  eyes  twinkled  suddenly  as  though 
at  some  sudden  thought,  and  he  nodded  toward  the 
bedroom.  "Er — pardon  me,  my  dear, — I  forgot, — -. 
you  have  the  proof  on  me " 


6  THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

"Flatterer!"  Marjorie  beamed  on  her  husband  as 
she  took  the  service  he  offered  her. 

"Anything  new  today?"  Hugh  was  busy  with  his 
jdinner. 

"Plenty!"  was  Marjorie's  enthusiastic  answer  as 
she  let  her  fork  drop  and  leaned  across  the  table." 
"Isn't  there  always, — with  such  children  as  ours? 
Oh,  Hugh,  dear,  there  never  were  such  babies, — now 
don't  you  laugh  at  me  I"  as  a  little  quirk  in  the  corner 
of  Hugh's  mouth  betrayed  he  was  not  becomingly 
solemn.  You  know  I'm  not  like  other  mothers, — < 
brag  about  my  children  just  because  they're  mine — 
and  yours — but  you  also  know  they're  extraordina- 
rily bright." 

Hugh  nodded,  but  there  was  that  in  his  satisfied 
expression  before  his  wife  had  completed  her  resume 
of  the  day's  doings  of  her  wonderful  infants  that 
quite  persuaded  her  that  'he  was  of  her  opinion.  As 
he  laid  aside  his  fork  after  his  last  bite  of  pie,  his 
was  the  beatific  expression  of  the  inwardly  satisfied 
male. 

"Want  help  with  the  dishes?"  he  asked.  Mar- 
jorie smiled  at  him. 

"If  I  didn't  already  know  you  were  the  best  man 
in  the  world,"  she  complimented,  "that  would 
prove  it.  Don't  I  know  how  you  hate  dish  wiping? 
No,  dear,  there  are  only  a  few,— I'll  do  them." 

"Thereby  proving  your  own  wonder,"  was  Hugh's 
praise.  "Not  another  woman  in  this  town  would 
refuse  such  an  offer." 

Marjorie  laughed  and  gave  him  a  playful  shove 
toward  a  chair  as  she  handed  him  his  paper. 

"There!"  she  exclaimed.  "Take  that, — and  read 
it.  Maybe  you'll  find  something  in  it  to  make  you 
appreciate  your  own  wife  and  babies.  I'll  be  through 
in  a  minute,  and  there  are  lots  of  things  we  can  do — 
interesting  things — like  sitting  on  the  porch  and 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT  7 

looking  at  the  moon  or  something.     It's  been  splen- 
did for  the  last  few  nights.    Have  you  noticed?" 

Hugh  yawned  contentedly.  "Hasn't  it  always 
been  whenever  we've  seen  it  together?" 
.  It  had  been.  Marjorie  Benton  was  sure  of  that, 
— surer  now  than  during  any  of  those  five  years 
she  had  been  married.  Everything  had  been  splen- 
did. She  could  not  help  considering  how  much  more 
they  had  of  the  worth  while  things  in  the  world  than 
any  of  the  friends  they  had  as  her  bright  head  bent 
over  her  dish-washing  and  her  glance  darted  through 
the  steam  of  the  hot  water  occasionally  to  where 
Hugh  sat  absorbed  in  his  paper. 

Perhaps  the  Benton  romance  had  not  been  as  spec- 
tacular as  some,  but  Marjorie  inwardly  thanked  the 
Providence  that  guided  her  that  it  was  more  real. 
Hugh  was  right,  too.  It  did  seem  such  a  short  time 
that  they  had  been  married.  Then,  anomalously 
came  the  thought  that  she  could  not  seem  to  remem- 
ber distinctly  any  time  when  she  and  Hugh  had  not 
been  one.  She  had  vague  memories  of  the  time  she 
had  been  teaching  school  in  this  very  town — that 
seemed  so  long  ago.  She  had  been  used  to  hearing 
people  say  she  was  wasting  her  youth,  her  beauty 
and  her  brains  in  such  an  occupation,  but  it  had 
in  a  way  satisfied  her.  Then  had  come  Hugh.  He 
had  come  to  Atwood  to  be  cashier  of  the  bank,  and, 
though  she  did  not  know  it  then,  he  was  as  much 
alone  in  the  world  as  she  herself.  All  those  nearest 
to  them  were  gone.  From  the  time  of  their  first 
meeting  at  a  dance,  Marjorie  remembered  that  life 
had  taken  on  a  different  meaning  to  her.  Her 
thoughts  flew  back  to  those  beautiful  days  that  fol- 
lowed. Her  lips  were  tender  in  their  smile  of  rem- 
iniscence as  she  thought  of  that  time.  There  had 
been  only  Hugh  and  Marjorie.  That  was  how  it 
was  to-day, — except  that  there  were  two  young  and 


8  THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

tender  HugHs  and  Marjories  to  bin'd  them  still  closer 
together.  Marjorie's  smile  grew  more  wistful  as 
she  thought,  her  mind  far  from  the  bright  glasses 
she  was  burnishing  as  they  came  hot  from  their  pan 
of  scalding  suds.  Hugh's  mention  of  the  moon  to- 
night— He  remembered  it,  then — She,  too,  remem- 
bered how  they  so  often  sat  under  that  big  elm  in  the 
moonlight,  and  Hugh  softly,  huskily  singing, — Poor 
Hughl  Wasn't  it  too  bad  he  never  could  keep  to 
the  same  key  for  two  consecutive  bars.  But  he  never 
noticed,  and  she  knew  she  never  cared.  What  was 
that  he  was  always  humming? 

"What's  the  matter  with  the  moon  to-night?" 

Again  he  was  right.  There  never  had  been  any- 
thing the  matter  with  it  where  they  were  concerned. 
It  had  helped  them  tell  their  love,  and  so 

"Seems  like  the  end  of  a  story,  instead  of  the  be- 
ginning," whispered  Marjorie  Benton.  to  her  flow- 
ered salad  bowl,  "but " 

And  so,  in  three  months,  they  had  been  married. 
There  hadn't  been  much  money;  there  wasn't  yet,  but 
what  did  it  matter?  They  had  their  bungalow;  it 
was  their  own.  What  happiness  they  had  had  in 
planning  all  the  details  just  as  Marjorie  had  always 
planned  them  for  herself  when  she  put  herself  to 
sleep  nights  planning  for  that  "sometime  in  the  fu- 
ture." 

"Money!"  Marjorie  Benton  sniffed  as  she  swirled 
her  dish  cloth  about  the  pan,  and  with  one  damp 
hand  flung  back  a  recalcitrant  bright  curl  that  tickled 
her  small  nose.  "Humph!  I'm  the  richest  woman 
in  the  world !  What  else " 

"Something  to  tell  you,  sweetheart,  when  you're 
through."  Hugh  looked  up  from  his  paper  and 
broke  in  on  his  wife's  reverie.  "Something  you'll 
like,  maybe." 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT          9 

"Oh,  Hugh,  dear!  Are  they  going  to  raise  your 
salary  again?"  she  asked  eagerly. 

Hugh  laughed,  but  there  was  a  rueful  shrug  to 
his  shoulders. 

"Nothing  so  exciting,"  he  declared.  "Have  you 
an  idea  that's  the  Atwood  Bank's  chief  occupation? 
No,  dear,  but  it's  just  as  long  a  chance.  I  got  my 
patent  from  Washington  today,  and  I  believe  I  have 
some  real  people  in  New  York  interested  in  it." 

Casually  as  he  spoke,  there  was  in  Hugh  Benton's 
manner  that  which  would  imply  that  he  fully  be- 
lieved he  was  offering  to  his  wife  the  equivalent  of 
fur  coats  and  jewels  and  estates  so  large  that  extra 
sized  depot  wagons  would  be  required  to  transport 
the  servants. 

"Clever  boy!"  Marjorie  flew  to  him  excitedly. 
"Oh,  I  am  so  proud  of  you!" 

"A  bit  early  to  be  too  proud  yet,  little  one,"  Hugh 
replied  in  the  choppy  way  he  bit  off  so  many  of  his 
sentences.  "Got  to  wait  for  results.  But  I'll  tell 
you  this,"  and  his  arm  slipped  around  her  waist  as 
he  bent  for  the  kiss  she  offered,  "if  this  thing  does 
go  through,  it'll  go  through  big,  and " 

"And  I'll  be  the  wife  of  the  great  inventor!" 
Marjorie  could  not  restrain  her  enthusiasm.  Hugh 
smiled  indulgently.  But  it  was  good  to  be  appre- 
ciated,— to  be  so  completely  b.elieved  in  by  someone. 
It  was  the  instinct  of  the  woman  who  loves,  though, 
that  led  her  to  add:  "But  if  it  doesn't  go  through, 
dear,  what  of  it?  Won't  we  still  be  the  happiest 
people  in  the  whole  world?  It  couldn't  be  any  other 
way.  Come  on  out  on  the  porch  and  let  the  moon 
tell  us  so."  And  she  drew  him  by  a  coat  sleeve  out 
through  the  open  door  onto  the  small  porch  that  the 
moon  was  beginning  to  silver  with  its  pale  vivid  light. 

Through  the  trees,  themselves  silvered  and  soft- 


;io         THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

ened  from  their  flaunting  autumnal  coloring  of  the 
'day,  came  wafted  to  them  the  fragrance  of  new- 
mown  hay.  On  the  top  step,  they  sat  down,  their 
faces  upturned  to  the  same  old  moon  that  is  for  lov- 
ers the  world  over.  Softly  Hugh  Benton's  arm 
slipped  about  the  slender  waist  of  his  lithe  young 
wife.  As  of  its  own  accord,  her  cheek  nestled  into 
the  curve  of  his  coat  sieve.  Out  of  the  silvered 
darkness,  a  phonograph  from  one  of  the  nearby  un- 
seen homes  began  to  play.  Through  the  stillness 
came  to  them  the  voice  of  John  McCormack: 
"For  this  is  the  end  of  a  perfect  day." 
"A  perfect  day, — yes!"  sighed  Marjorie  Benton 
as  tfce  singer's  voice  died  out.  "But  isn't  that  the 
way  with  all  our  days?  They  end  and  start — per- 
fectly." 

Hugh  Benton's  dark  head  bent  over  his  wife's 
bright  one.  His  lips  placed  there  his  kiss  of  rever- 
ence and  thanksgiving. 


CHAPTER  II 

THERE  have  been  rumors  that  when  the  serpent 
in  the  Garden  showed  the  apple  to  Eve,  that 
it  wasn't  exactly  an  apple  she  saw.  Some  even 
say  the  forbidden  fruit,  as  she  gazed  at  it,  did  what 
our  best  movie  writers  call  "dissolved"  and  slowly 
faded  into  a  yellow  backed  bill.  And  so  the  damage 
was  done. 

At  any  rate,  money  or  the  wishing  for  it  has  done 
a  lot  to  women  of  all  times  ever  since  Eve  first  had 
her  vision.  Marjorie  Benton  may  have  fully  be- 
lieved in  her  own  heart  that  it  meant  nothing  to  her, 
but  from  the  time  that  Hugh  first  gave  her  an  idea 
that  his  invention  with  which  she  had  long  been  fa- 
miliar might  really  mean  that  she  could  have  what- 
ever she  wished,  and  was  not  a  nebulous  dream, 
there  subtly  grew  within  her  a  spirit  of  discontent 
which  she  would  have  denied — even  to  herself — but 
which  was  nonetheless  real. 

The  bungalow.  Somehow  it  didn't  seem  the  most 
desirable  of  all  habitations  as  she  had  once  thought 
it.  She  could  so  easily  use  another  bathroom;  per- 
haps two.  With  money,  even  these  things  were  pos- 
sible. And  a  dining  room.  She  seemed  quite  to 
forget  how  wonderful  had  seemed  that  kitchen  with 
its  small  alcove  when  she  and  Hugh  had  planned 
it  from  one  of  those  perfect  home  magazines,  she 
sitting  with  her  head  buried  on  Hugh's  shoulder,  he 
holding  her  tightly  with  one  hand  as  he  marked  out 
diagrams  with  the  other.  The  babies!  There  was 
so  much  she  wanted  for  them  now,  when  she  came 
to  think  of  it,  and  as  for  what  she  wanted  for  them 


12         THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT, 

in  the  future — there  seemed  no  end  to  the  wishes  or 
the  castle  building. 

To  do  her  justice,  Marjorie  really  hadn't  thought 
much  of  what  sudden  fortune  might  mean  to  her 
personally.  She  wasn't  naturally  vain.  That  is,  she 
had  not  given  herself  the  first  thought.  Discontent 
with  her  own  lot  came  upon  her  gradually,  and, 
as  might  reasonably  be  expected,  she  had  been 
brought  to  realize  it  through  other  women.  Her 
first  realization  was  on  a  day  when  Mrs.  Birming- 
ham and  Mrs.  Wallace  called.  Usually  Marjorie 
had  accepted  these  two  small  town  butterflies  with  a 
smile  of  tolerance.  This  time  it  was  different. 

Their  talk  had  been  of  clothes, — a  fairly  general 
topic  of  conversation  with  average  women.  Mrs. 
Birmingham  grew  positively  eloquent  as  she  de- 
scribed her  new  fall  costume  with  its  garnishings  of 
beaver;  of  the  smart  little  hat  to  match;  the  gloves, 
shoes;  all  the  little  accessories  necessary  to  an  outfit 
to  be  envied.  But  then  Mrs.  Birmingham  was  telling 
of  her  possessions  with  just  this  purpose  in  view. 
Not  to  be  outdone,  Mrs.  Wallace  drawled: 

"Oh,  yes,  my  dear,  but  you  know  it  is  so  much 
easier  to  be  outfitted  if  one  does  it  near  home.  Now 
I've  had  to  send  to  New  York  for  my  moleskin  stole. 
Harvey  wouldn't  hear  of  anything  else.  Seal  and 
the  ordinary  furs  one  sees  are  so  common,  don't 
you.  think?" 

In  her  usual  contented  frame  of  mind,  Marjorie 
would  have  chuckled  at  the  attempted  arrogance. 
Now  she  sighed  inwardly.  Moleskin!  And  Mrs. 
Wallace,  poor  little  mouse-haired  nonentity,  was 
actually  going  to  have  it  while  she,  Marjorie —  She 
showed  nothing  of  her  thoughts,  though,  as  she  lis- 
tened, attentive  and  sweet  as  usual. 

Not  till  they  had  gone  and  she  sat  curled  up  with 
one  foot  under  her  on  a  big  floor  cushion  (a  favorite 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT         13 

attitude  when  she  wanted  to  think)  did  she  realize 
that  they  had  given  her  food  for  thought,  and  that 
she  wanted  things !  Wanted  them ! 

"I'm  frazzled  and  frayed — almost  disreputable  I" 
was  her  half  bitter  inward  comment.  "Why  I 
haven't  had  any  kind  of  a  new  suit  in  two  years,  and 
and  as  for  a  hat !  Well, — "  She  laughed  ruefully  as 
she  clambered  to  her  feet  and  mechanically  shook 
out  the  cushions  that  still  bore  the  imprint  of  Mrs. 
Birmingham's  none  too  svelte  figure,  "I  shouldn't 
complain,  I  suppose.  I  had  a  new  hat  once, — some 
time  before  Elinor  was  born." 

Aggrieved  as  she  felt  for  the  moment,  Marjorie 
Benton  realized  that  her  lack  of  finery  was  not  her 
husband's  fault.  He  had  always  wished  her  to  have 
it,  and  had  urged  that  she  set  aside  something  for 
herself.  But  always  something  had  happened  to  it. 
Once  she  had  been  on  the  verge  of  spending  it,  when 
Howard  had  to  have  his  tonsils  out;  then  had  come 
their  contribution  toward  building  the  new  church. 

Marjorie  groaned.  "Just  one  thing  after  another 
— all  the  time,"  she  complained,  and  complaining 
was  something  so  new  Marjorie  Benton  would  not 
have  recognized  it  in  herself.  "Oh,  if  Hugh  should 
do  something  with  that  invention  1  Surely  he  must !" 

And  once  again  with  the  thought,  came  in  a  flood 
all  the  day-dreams  she  had  been  indulging  since  he 
had  spoken  to  her  a  week  and  a  half  ago  of  his 
hopes.  What  would  she  not  do?  As  she  stood  be- 
tween the  parted  curtains  gazing  out  into  the  street 
swept  with  a  scurrying  vista  of  whirling  autumn 
leaves,  it  was  not  the  brown  and  gold  of  fallen  leaves 
she  saw,  but  visions  of  shop  windows  in  gorgeous 
colors,  gowns  of  purple  and  gold  and  sapphire,  and 
tissues  fine  as  spun  cobwebs.  All  for  her.  For  Mar- 
jorie Benton  was  at  least  realizing  how  well  her 
beauty  would  accord  with  the  vanities  of  femininity 


.14         THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

and  she  knew  she  wanted  them — not  as  she  had 
thought  she  had  when  she  had  so  generously  given 
of  her  small  store,  but  in  the  light  of  the  possibility 
which  Hugh's  hopes  had  opened  up  to  her.  All  these 
women  in  Atwood  who  had  somehow  seemed  to 
patronize  her,  even  when  they  told  her  how  they  en- 
vied her  her  happiness.  She  wanted  to  show  them ! 

Hardly  realizing  it,  Marjorie  Benton  found  her- 
self a  victim  of  an  uneasy  restlessness;  a  rapidly 
growing  discontent.  For  antidote  she  plunged 
deeper  than  ever  into  her  household  duties,  busied 
herself  with  the  babies,  did  everything,  anything,  to 
keep  her  thoughts  from  straying.  Each  night  as  she 
heard  Hugh's  step  on  the  walk,  her  heart  beat  in 
mad  suspense — "Would  there  be  any  news  tonight?" 
was  the  question  involuntarily  on  her  lips. 

The  only  answer  so  far  had  been  Hugh's  sad 
little  negative  nod,  but  there  came  a  night,  after  he 
kissed  her,  when  he  handed  her  a  letter  before  he 
vanished  into  the  bedroom  where  the  children  were 
playing. 

Marjorie's  hands  were  so  unsteady  she  could 
hardly  open  it,  although  Hugh's  demeanor  had  been 
such  she  almost  knew  what  to  expect  in  advance,  and 
therefore  the  courteous  refusal  that  met  her  eyes 
did  not  surprise  her  in  the  least.  She  brushed  away 
unbidden  tears  and  hastened  after  him. 

"Never  mind,  dear,"  she  soothed  gently,  pulling 
his  head  down  to  kiss  him,  "you  have  other  firms 
to  hear  from  yet — we  mustn't  let  one  answer  dis- 
courage us." 

"Brave  little  girl,"  he  answered.  "Thinking  of 
me  as  usual,  when  I  know  what  that  letter  meant  to 
you — now  wait,"  as  she  started  to  protest,  "let  me 
finish,  dear.  Don't  you  think,  sweetheart,  that  I 
haven't  noticed  a  change  in  you  this  past  week  ?  You 
haven't  been  yourself  at  all,  although  you  have  tried 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT         15 

to  make  believe — and  I  know  it's  been  anxiety  over 
my  old  invention.  Why,  dear  one,"  and  Hugh  Ben- 
ton  gently  smoothed  his  wife's  hair  as  he  soothed 
her  as  he  would  one  of  the  youngsters  who  were 
pulling  at  his  coat  tails,  "if  I  had  known  you  were 
going  to  take  it  this  way — that  it  would  have  .caused 
you  a  moment's  worry,  I  wouldn't  have  told  you  a 
thing  about  it  until  everything  was  all  settled,  and  we 
were  millionaires." 

Marjorie  caught  a  sob  in  her  throat  as  she  gazed 
at  Hugh  with  wide  open  eyes.  So  he  had  noticed 
that  something  was  wrong.  How  selfish  she  had 
been.  A  tear  trembled  on  her  long  lashes  as  she 
glanced  up  at  him  contritely. 

"Oh,  Hugh,  dear,  dearest,"  she  quavered.  "I 
didn't  think  you — I  didn't  know — you  see — "  she 
clutched  his  coat  sleeve  and  hid  her  face  in  it  as 
little  Elinor  and  Howard  danced  about  shouting  with 
glee,  each  with 'the  idea  of  some  new  game.  But 
mother  was  only  searching  for  words.  They  came  in 
a  gush,  and  the  little  sob  that  accompanied  them 
made  grave  for  a  moment  the  face  of  the  man  she 
held  to  so  tightly, — a  graveness  replaced  in  a  moment 
by  an  indulgent  smile  of  understanding  as  she  spoke. 
"Oh,  I  wasn't  thinking  about  the  money  so  much, 
d-d-ear,  but  Mrs.  Wallace  has  a  new  moleskin  stole, 
and  Mrs.  Birmingham  has  a  be-e-aver  co-co-atl" 

So  it  was  out.  Man  fashion  Hugh  hadn't  thought 
that  Marjorie  might  want  the  things  so  dear  to  the 
hearts  of  other  women.  She  had  seemed  so  different. 
But  he  remembered  that  she  was  a  woman,  after  all, 
and  it  was  with  a  little  pang  that  he  realized  how 
little  she  had  really  had  during  the  past  few  years. 
His  lips  set  in  a  grim  line  of  determination  to  change 
all  this  as  he  patted  her  hair,  but  his  words  were  as 
cheery  and  hearty  as  always  as  he  whispered: 

"There,  there,  honey,  don't  fret  I    You  shall  have 


16         THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

'em,  too  1  But  right  now,  don't  you  think  it  would  be 
a  good  idea  to  get  on  the  old  blue  bonnet  and  let's 
take  a  whirl  at  the  movies?  Cheer  up  all  around? 
Charlie  Chaplin  and  Nazimova — weeps  and  laughs. 
What  say?  Can't  you  get  Mrs.  Clancy  to  watch  the 
babies?" 

And  as  though  the  matter  were  settled,  which 
Marjorie  knew  it  was,  Hugh  Benton,  in  his  usual 
abrupt  way,  resumed  his  interrupted  romp  with  his 
son  and  heir  and  the  little  princess  of  the  house  of 
Benton. 

Cypress  Avenue  was  the  rather  imposing  name 
that  the  dwellers  on  that  thoroughfare  in  Atwood 
chose  to  use  in  referring  to  their  place  of  residence. 
Why  Cypress,  though,  was  a  question  that  was  bound 
to  present  itself  to  the  casual  visitor.  There  were 
maple  trees  in  plenty,  a  few  dogwoods  and  scattered 
shrubs  of  nondescript  nomenclature  that  grew  with- 
out regard  to  any  scheme  of  city  gardening  either 
inside  or  outside  the  flagged  sidewalks  at  their  own 
sweet  will.  But  cypresses — stay !  Yes,  there  was  a 
cypress  if  one  chose  to  go  that  far  to  look  for  it, — 
away  out  at  the  end  of  the  street  at  the  entrance  to 
the  Forest  Home  Cemetery,  beyond  the  more  pre- 
tentious homes  of  brick  and  concrete  that  housed 
such  aristocracy  as  the  Birminghams  and  the  Wal- 
laces. Mr.  Birmingham  was  president  of  the  At- 
wood Bank,  and  Edgar  Wallace  made  sufficient  as 
the  town's  chief  merchant  to  clothe  his  wife  in  mole- 
skin. On  Cypress  Avenue,  too,  lived  the  Moultons, 
the  Carvers,  the  Hopewells,  coal  and  wood,  hard- 
ware and  grain  barons  and  baronesses  of  their  own 
small  world.  It  was  something  to  live  on  Cypress 
Avenue,  and  the  Bentons,  in  building  their  shingle 
bungalow  had  felt  a  glow  of  pride  in  taking  their 
place  with  the  elect  of  their  chosen  place  of  resi- 
dence. They  were  farther  downtown,  though,  within 
such  a  short  distance  of  Depot  Avenue,  the  main 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT         17 

street  and  business  district,  that  they  could  easily  see 
the  lights  of  the  Princess,  the  movie  theater,  flash 
on  each  night,  and  could  tell  to  a  nicety  the  time  of 
night  by  seeing  when  Oscar  Merriman,  the  depot 
agent  and  telegrapher,  turned  out  the  electrics  pre- 
paratory to  closing  up  and  going  to  his  own  home 
far  across  the  railroad  tracks  in  Sandy  Hill. 

That  the  farmers  coming  and  going  from  the  out- 
lying districts  chose  to  speak  of  Depot  Avenue  as 
the  main  road,  and  of  Cypress  Avenue  as  the  short 
cut,  in  no  wise  disturbed  the  residents  of  that  avenue. 
They  were  quite  assured  that  their  chief  residential 
street  compared  most  favorably  with  that  of  any 
street  in  any  town  the  size  of  Atwood. 

Shaded  as  it  was,  and  lighted  with  the  new  lights 
in  their  opalescent  globes  recently  installed  by  the  city 
fathers — and  brothers  and  sisters  and  cousins  and 
aunts,  too, — it  was  a  foregone  conclusion  that  Cy- 
press Avenue  should  be  the  favorite  strolling  place 
for  Atwoodites  on  such  nights  as  strolling  was  pos- 
sible. So  when  Hugh  and  Marjorie  Benton  closed 
their  front  gate  and  started  toward  Depot  Avenue 
and  the  movie  lights,  they  did  not  particularly  re- 
mark the  numbers  of  people  who  passed  and  stopped 
them  to  pass  laughing  comments  of  the  events  of  the 
day.  With  the  thoughts  of  money  she  had  been  har- 
boring, and  the  newly  arisen  desire  for  a  change, 
Marjorie  Benton  realized  with  something  of  a 
pang  that  such  a  change  as  her  day  dreams  had  led 
her  to  desire  would  mean  a  forfeiting  of  all  this  jolly 
camaraderie.  She  was  not  altogether  sure  that  she 
really  wanted  it,  after  all.  But  as  they  turned  into 
the  principal  street  and  the  few  lights  in  front  of  the 
main  stores  greeted  her,  her  mind  flew  hastily  to  the 
vision  of  New  York  and  its  Great  White  Way  as 
she  remembered  it  on  one  of  her  few  visits  to  the 
city.  Yes,  that  was  what  she  wanted — must  have! 

So  interested  was  she  in  her  own  thoughts,  that 


1 8         THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

she  did  not  notice  the  unusual  quietness  of  the  hus- 
band who  walked  beside  her,  his  brows  drawn  into 
a  furrow,  his  lips  compressed  with  determination  as 
he  glanced  once  or  twice  at  his  pretty  young  wife, 
apparently  noticing  for  the  first  time  that  Marjorie's 
hat  wasn't  in  the  least  like  that  of  Mrs.  Rolfe  who 
had  just  passed  them  with  a  cheery  good  evening; 
that  Marjorie's  gloves  were  undeniably  mended; 
that  in  spite  of  the  jauntiness  with  which  she  wore  it, 
her  little  blue  velvet  coat  was  badly  worn  about  the 
seams. 

It  was  with  a  start  that  Marjorie  Benton  brought 
herself  back  to  Atwood  to  recognize  that  a  small 
car  had  stopped  at  the  curb  beside  them.  Someone 
was  calling  to  her. 

"You  must  be  thinking  of  something  very  pleas- 
ant— and  far  away,"  came  the  staccato  voice  of  Mrs. 
Birmingham,  as  she  leaned  out  of  the  car  and  shook 
her  hand  admonishingly  at  Marjorie.  "I've  called 
you  three  times." 

"Oh,  I'm  sorry  1"  Marjorie  was  earnestly  apolo- 
getic. "I  was  thinking — 

Little  Mr.  Birmingham's  snappy  laugh  broke  in 
to  cover  her  confusion.  "Don't  do  it,  my  dear,"  he 
advised.  "Bad  for  your  pretty  head.  Now  Matilda, 
here,  she  never  thinks — and  look  at  her " 

"James  William !"  Mrs.  Birmingham  brought  all 
the  hauteur  she  could  command  in  reprimand  of  her 
spouse.  Then,  ignoring  him,  she  turned  to  the  Ben- 
tons  and  there  was  a  purr  in  her  voice  as  she  went 
on: 

"I  only  stopped  you,  Marjorie,  dear,  to  see  if  you 
would  not  promise  me — positively  promise — to  be 
one  of  the  hostesses  at  the  Dilemma  Club's  reception 
next  Friday.  We've  seen  so  little  of  you  recently — 
[everyone  is  asking  why  you  are  keeping  so  to  your- 
self, and — oh,  I  know  what  you're  going  to  say," 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT         19 

raising  her  gray  gloved  hand  protestingly  as  Mar- 
jorie  started  to  speak,  " — the  babies,  and  all  that, 
but  you  should  not  neglect  your  social  duties  so— 
other  women  have  babies,  too,  and  we  need  you,  you 
know.  You're  our  prize  'cultured  lady,'  remember, 
and  besides  you're  much  better  off  than  so  many 
women  who  never  neglect  the  club.  You  have  your 
incomparable  Mrs.  Clancy  who  will  always  come 
when  you  call  her,  but  how  you're  able  to  manage  it 
when  it  is  so  hard  for  anyone  to  get  servants, — now 
my  second  girl  who  has  only  been  with  me  a  week 
was  telling  me  only  to-day  that  she  couldn't  stay, 
and » 

Mr.  Birmingham's  sniff  was  loudly  audible. 

"Second  chief  cook  and  bottle  washer,"  he  com- 
mented, "and  twenty-fourth  you've  tried  to  have 
stay  and  wear  a  confounded  white  cap.  Hmmphl 
What  a  woman  needs  of  two  girls  to  wait  on  her 
beats  me,  eh,  Benton?" 

Though  she  flushed  angrily,  Mrs.  Birmingham's 
control  was  admirable  as  she  added,  before  Mar- 
jorie  could  voice  a  reply:  "Then  that's  settled. 
You'll  come — I  can  depend  on  you " 

Marjorie's  thoughts  were  aghast  as  she  thought 
of  her  one  all-too-worn  best  gown,  the  impossibility 
of  wearing  it, — and  the  still  greater  impossibility  of 
getting  another. 

"Why,  really,  I — I  can't  say  right  now — "  Mar- 
jorie  stammered,  and  she  was  conscious  of  the  hot 
flood  that  crimsoned  her  face. 

"Certainly  she  will  go!"  Hugh  Benton  broke  in 
in  his  decided  way.  His  single  glance  into  the  know- 
ing depths  of  Mrs.  Birmingham's  small  gray  eyes 
had  decided  him.  He  felt  the  slight  twinge  as  his 
wife  nipped  his  arm  in  remonstrance,  but  his  lips 
were  still  set  in  that  firm  line  of  determination  that 
had  first  come  to  him  when  he  had  learned  that 


20         THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

Marjorie  wanted  more  than  he  had  been  able  to 
give  her.  He  would  make  good  for  Marjorie,  and 
this  should  be  a  beginning. 

"But  dear,  I " 

He  cut  her  remonstrance  short. 

"If  it's  a  new  gown  that's  bothering  you,"  he  said 
bluntly,  "then  you  can  order  one  to-morrow, — from 
New  York.  You  know,"  and  he  looked  squarely  at 
Mrs.  Birmingham  as  she  lifted  politely  inquiring 
eyebrows,  "my  wife  has  been  going  out  so  little, 
that  she  has  not  paid  the  attention  to  frills  that  are 
usual  with  women,  I  believe." 

"Splendid !"  enthused  the  banker's  wife,  but  there 
was  a  queer  half  smile  on  Birmingham's  thin  lips 
that  told  of  his  glee  that  his  Matilda  had  received 
one  quietus  to  her  patronizing.  "Then  we  won't 
keep  you  any  longer.  Sorry  we  haven't  the  big  car 
with  us,"  she  drawled.  "But  it's  a  beautiful  night 
for  a  stroll,  isn't  it?" 

"We're  going  to  the  movies,"  remarked  Marjorie, 
in  the  tone  she  might  have  employed  at  announcing 
an  opera  opening.  "They're  having  two  splendid 
pictures  to-night — why  don't  you  come  with  us?" 

Mrs.  Birmingham  stifled  a  well-assumed  yawn. 
"Oh,  the  movies,"  she  said  languidly.  "They  bore 
me  to  extinction.  I'm  dreadfully  spoiled,  I'm  afraid. 
In  New  York  when  I'm  with  my  sister  (you  know 
I  spent  three  months  there  the  last  time)  we  went 
to  the  theater  almost  every  night.  Theaters  make 
the  movies  seem  so — er — banal,  don't  you  think?" 

"Hmmphl"  once  more  remarked  the  snappy  little 
banker,  in  a  tone  that  led  one  to  believe  it  was  his 
favorite  expression,  or,  rather,  explosion.  "Thea- 
tres every  night — brother-in-law  with  a  pull  that  got 
free  tickets  for  everything  where  they  couldn't  sell 
seats — made  you  forget  you  once  wanted  to  dress 
your  hair  and  roll  your  eyes  like  Theda  Bara,  didn't 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT         21 

they,  eh,  Matilda?  Well,  /  like  the  movies — wish 
I  could  be  going  with  you,  folks,  but  we  got  to  be 
getting  along.  Good  luck!"  His  hand  went  toward 
the  starter,  but  the  hand  of  Mrs.  Birmingham  stayed 
him  for  a  last  word. 

"Oh,  I  almost  forgot,  Marjorie,  my  dear,"  she 
called,  as  Hugh  and  Marjorie  turned  toward  the 
lights  of  Depot  Avenue,  "my  sister  sent  me  a  lot  of 
things  yesterday — some  new  books  and  so  on — and 
I  know  you're  just  crazy  about  reading,  so  I'm  going 
to  send  some  of  them  over  to  you  for  you  to  read 
and  tell  me  about.  I  always  get  so  much  more 
benefit  out  of  a  book  when  someone  who  is  inter- 
ested tells  me  about  it.  You  will,  there's  a  dear?" 

"Oh,  thank  you,  Mrs.  Birmingham,"  Marjorie 
began,  and  she  was  almost  startled  by  the  abrupt 
way  in  which  Hugh  hurried  her  along,  her  thanks 
half  expressed. 

"Patronizing  old  frump!"  he  fumed.  "Well, 
that's  the  last  of  it — no  more!" 

Marjorie  laughed  at  his  intensity. 

"Oh,  what  harm,  Hugh,  dear?"  she  defended, 
and  the  humorous  light  that  he  knew  and  loved  so 
well  chased  away  the  half  wistfulness  of  the  last 
few  hours.  "She  likes  it  and  it  doesn't  do  me  any 
harm.  But,"  and  she  dimpled  as  she  looked  up  at 
her  tall  husband  and  gleefully  squeezed  his  arm,  "did 
you  notice  she  didn't  have  on  the  beaver  coat?" 

"Plenty  of  cat,  though,"  and  Hugh's  frown  did 
not  lighten  as  his  hand  slipped  into  his  trousers 
pocket  and  he  laid  his  money  down  on  the  cashier's 
window  in  front  of  the  gay  little  movie  theater. 

In  shaded  Cypress  Avenue  the  Birminghams'  small 
car  whirled  along.  Its  occupants  were  silent — for  a 
few  moments.  Mrs.  Birmingham  broke  that  silence. 

"James  William  Birmingham,"  she  declared  (he 
was  always  "James  William"  instead  of  "Jimmie" 


when  Mrs.  Birmingham  had  anything  of  great  im- 
portance to  say),  uyou  have  hurt  my  feelings!" 

The  banker  snorted.  "Then  you  know  how  it 
feels." 

"And  in  front  of  the  Bentons,  of  all  people!" 
She  was  on  the  verge  of  tears,  but  Mr.  Birmingham 
believed  in  letting  a  lesson  sink  in. 

"Well,  what's  wrong  with  them?" 

"N-nothing,  nothing  at  all,"  was  the  impatient 
reply.  "But,  oh,  you  know  how  it  is  as  well  as  I 
do.  Marjorie  Benton  is  just  perfect  in  most  people's 
eyes,  and  if  anything  is  wanted,  don't  they  go  and 
ask  her  instead  of  coming  to  me,  the  banker's  wife? 
All  I  have  is  clothes  and  theaters  and  things,  and  if 
you  think  I'm  not  going  to  make  her  feel  that  I'm 
superior  in  some  ways,  then  you're  all  wrong.  Mar- 
jorie Benton  hasn't  had  a  new  thing  in  years.  I've 
got  to  get  even  with  her  someway,  or  she'd  be  think- 
ing she  was  better  than  I  am,  or  than  anyone.  All 
of  us  pity  her,  though,  because  she's  so  shabby." 

Louder  than  at  any  time  previously  James  Wil- 
liam Birmingham  exploded  his  "Hmmph!" 

"Hmmph!  Pity  all  you  like,  but  it'll  be  wasted, 
I  can  tell  you.  Unless  I  miss  my  guess,  the  Ben- 
tons  '11  soon  be  richer  than  anyone  in  this  little  old 
town,  just  as  she's  already  the  brightest  and  pret- 
tiest little  woman  here,  and  he's  the  finest  man  I 
know.  Wish  I  had  money  enough  to  back  him  my- 
self." 

"Wonderful  invention,  indeed!"  Matilda  Bir- 
mingham was  disdainful.  "That  old  rubber  stamp 
thing!  Why,  we've  been  hearing  about  it  for  ages, 
and  I  for  one,  don't  believe  it  will  ever  amount  to 
anything." 

"All  you  know  about  it."  The  banker  had  the 
closing  word.  "Well,  you  just  chew  over  this — if 
it  wasn't  for  a  lot  of  little  old  inventions  like  that 


23 

women  like  you  would  be  finding  a  lot  more  to  do 
keeping  house  and  making  a  home  instead  of  gad- 
ding and  talking  about  their  new  clothes  to  some- 
one who  hasn't  got  'eml" 


Mrs.  Clancy,  the  dependable,  was  dozing  in  the 
kitchen  when  Hugh  and  Marjorie  returned  from 
their  outing.  But  she  had  not  forgotten  to  put  out 
on  the  little  table  the  bit  of  supper  that  she  knew 
Hugh  and  Marjorie  liked  on  such  occasions.  Mar- 
jorie's  smile  was  different  from  her  usual  one, 
though,  as  she  recalled  how  often  she  and  Hugh 
had  sat  'down  at  their  own  little  table  thus,  and  over 
and  over  had  reminded  each  other  how  much  better 
it  was  than  any  restaurant,  how  much  luckier  they 
were  than  most  people.  To-night,  somehow — well, 
she  wasn't  so  sure. 

"Not  a  whimper  out  of  the  blessed  lambs,"  the 
old  serving  woman  assured  Marjorie's  eagerness 
about  her  babies.  "Oi've  caught  forty  winks,  too, 
and — "  She  stopped  in  the  careful  tying  of  her 
bonnet  strings,  to  dig  deep  into  a  pocket,  bringing 
out  a  crumpled  telegram.  "Now,  and  if  Oi  didn't 
almost  forget  the  bit  letter  Tim  Smith's  bye  Jerry 
brought." 

Marjorie's  heart  lost  a  beat. 

"A  telegram!"  she  cried.  "Why,  who  can  it 
be " 

Already  Hugh  had  torn  it  open,  and  it  was  with 
a  light  of  gladness  in  his  eyes  and  a  flourish  as  of 
laying  at  her  feet  the  wealth  of  the  world,  that  he 
handed  it  to  his  wife. 

"We've  won,  dearest, — I'm  sure  of  it.  See  it  Fs 
from  the  biggest  of  all  the  firms  I've  wanted  to  in- 
terest." 


24        THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

In  a  daze  Marjorie  gazed  at  the  few  typed  words 
as  though  they  held  magic.  She  was  but  dimly 
aware  of  her  mechanical  goodnight  to  the  good- 
hearted  Irishwoman  who  made  it  possible  for  such 
little  pleasures  as  she  and  Hugh  had  to-night  en- 
joyed. There  was  entrancement;  the  words  danced 
in  letters  of  gold  before  her  eyes. 

HUGH  BENTON 

ATWOOD,  N.  Y. 

MEETING  WITH  DIRECTORS  ARRANGED 
FOR  TEN  THIRTY,  SEPT.  23.  EVERY- 
THING FAVORABLE  TO  DATE. 

TEMPLETON,  BAIRD  &  Co. 

"Dearest!"  At  last  she  found  voice.  "How  per- 
fectly wonderful !  Oh,  I  knew  you  would  make  me 
proud  of  you!"  She  flew  to  him  and  her  arms 
reached  up  to  cling  about  his  neck.  The  man's  eyes, 
too,  were  dim,  but  there  was  in  them  that  which 
showed  he  knew  now  he  must  not  fail, — that  he 
must  do  all  this  woman  he  loved  and  who  loved  him 
believed  him  capable  of.  His  arms  folded  about  her 
tenderly.  With  a  sudden  thought,  though,  she  drew 
away  a  bit  to  glance  once  more  at  the  crumpled 
yellow  sheet  that  meant  so  much.  "Why  dear!" 
she  gasped  wonderingly,  "it's  right  away,  too !  Did 
you  notice?  This  meeting  is  for  to-morrow!" 

Hugh  Benton  nodded. 

"Yes,  sweetheart.  And  I've  been  thinking  while 
you've  been  dreaming  and  waking  up  to  realities. 
I'll  take  the  morning  train — I'll  telephone  Mr. 
Birmingham — and  I  can  be  back  at  mid-night.  You 
can  get  Mrs.  Clancy  to  come  over  and  stay  with 
you." 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT        25 

Marjorie  drew  back  reproachfully. 

"Mrs.  Clancy!  Oh,  Hugh,  dear!  How  can  you 
think  I  could  have  anybody  about  when  I'll  have  so 
much  to  think  of — so  much  to  plan " 

Hugh  smiled  a  bit  ruefully. 

"Seemed  to  me  lately  you'd  already  been  planning 
a  lot — got  new  ones  to  make?"  he  asked,  half  teas- 
ingly. 

"Hundreds,  thousands,  millions  of  them,"  de- 
clared Marjorie,  sweeping  her  hands  in  a  gesture  to 
include  the  world.  "Oh,  I  won't  be  lonely — you  can 
be  sure  of  that.  But,"  and  her  eyes  roved  toward 
the  table  with  its  untouched  food  and  the  coffee  pot 
simmering  on  the  stove,  "here  we  are  forgetting  to 
eat.  It  must  be  serious.  Sit  down  dear,  and  let's 
plan  it  all  out.  I'm  going  to  get  the  chocolate  cake. 
This  isn't  to  be  an  ordinary  feast,  you  know!" 

Hugh  Benton's  eyes  were  somber  as  he  watched 
his  wife,  her  face  flushed  to  a  deep  wild  rose,  her 
eyes  shining  like  stars,  as  she  flew  to  arrange  their 
belated  supper.  His  thoughts  were  far  off. 

"I  wonder,"  he  murmured,  as  he  closely  followed 
her  movements,  his  chin  cupped  in  one  hand,  his 
elbow  resting  on  the  table  with  its  embroidered 
doilies,  Marjorie's  own  handiwork,  "I  wonder  if  it 
is  really  what  she  wants.  But  I've  got  to  do  it — I 
must  make  good — I  will"' 


CHAPTER  III 

HUGH  BENTON  reached  out  and  took  a  large 
piece  of  the  chocolate  cake  which  his  wife 
held  toward  him.  He  bit  into  it  hugely  with 
satisfaction. 

"Well,  little  one,"  he  said,  his  mouth  full  of  the 
toothsome  morsel,  "let's  hear  what's  on  your  mind. 
Shoot  1" 

"Hugh,  dearl"  Marjorie  shook  a  remonstrative 
finger  at  him.  "You  know  how  I  dislike  slang! 
And  what  if  the  babies  should  see  you  with  your 
mouth  crammed  like  that!" 

Her  husband  grinned  boyishly. 

"Pardon  me,"  he  said,  with  exaggerated  dignity. 
"What  I  meant  to  say,  Mrs.  Benton,  was,  what 
have  you  been  planning  to  do  when  your  husband  is 
no  longer  a  wage  slave,  a  poor  minion  whose  chief 
duty  is  to  watch  other  people's  money,  and  shall 
himself  become  a  personage  of  wealth  and  posi- 
tion?" 

Marjorie's  eyes  sparkled  and  her  cheeks  glowed 
rosy  with  excitement  as  she  answered  enthusiastic- 
ally. "Oh,  such  heaps  and  heaps  of  wonderful 
plans,  dear.  I  scarcely  know  how  to  begin  to  tell 
them  all.  First  of  all,  of  course,  we'll  leave  here 
and  go  to  New  York.  We  will  purchase  a  lovely 
home — somewhere  on  the  Drive,  I  think.  Then  we 
will  spend  days  and  days  going  about  in  all  sorts  of 
quaint  little  shops  searching  for  rare  antiques  and 
selecting  beautiful  furniture  and  draperies.  When 
our  home  is  ready,  we  will  have  a  nurse  for  the 
kiddies,  and  after  a  couple  of  years,  a  governess,  and 

26 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT         27 

when  they  grow  up,  Elinor  can  go  to  a  select  finish- 
ing school  for  young  ladies,  and  Howard  can  attend 
college  and — oh,  I  could  go  on  forever  and  ever 
planning,  but  it  seems  absurd,  so  many  years  ahead, 
and — "  She  stopped  suddenly.  "Why  dear,  you're 
not  enthusing  at  all,  and  you  don't  seem  to  be  in- 
terested in  anything  I  am  saying.  Don't  my  castles 
in  the  air  meet  with  your  approval?" 

Hugh  shook  his  head  sadly.  "Well  not  exactly, 
dear — the  first  time  since  we've  been  married,  too, 
but  our  ideas  are  mighty  far  apart." 

"Well  then,  what  do  your  ideas  happen  to  be?" 
Marjorie  was  a  little  hurt. 

Hugh  contemplated  his  wife  for  a  moment,  as 
though  loath  to  say  anything  that  might  dim  the  en- 
thusiasm that  glowed  in  her  blue  eyes. 

"My  thoughts  are  a  long  way  from  New  York," 
he  began,  "probably  you  wouldn't  be  interested  at 
all.  But  all  my  life  I've  had  just  one  dream." 

"Of  course,  I'm  interested  in  what  you  want, 
Hugh  dear,"  quietly  answered  Marjorie,  but  some- 
thing in  her  tone  belied  the  ardor  of  the  words. 
"Tell  me." 

"It's  just  this."  For  a  moment  Hugh  stopped, 
and  the  vision  he  conjured  brought  an  eagerness  to 
his  words  when  he  spoke. 

"I  want  to  be  a  farmer — a  gentleman  farmer.  I 
want  to  buy  an  estate  or  small  farm  not  far  from 
New  York  but  near  this  place  where  we  have  al- 
ways been  so  happy.  I'll  hire  men  to  do  the  rough 
part  of  the  work,  but  I  want  to  keep  myself  busy 
and  occupied  overseeing  things.  I  never  did  like  to 
be  idle.  You  know  that.  Then  we  can  have  that 
nurse  for  the  children  so  that  we  can  run  up  to  New 
York  occasionally  for  a  few  days  and  have  all  the 
theaters  and  opera  we  want.  Then  when  the  young- 
sters are  old  enough  to  attend  school,  I  should  like 


28         THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

to  send  them  to  a  public  school.  Some  of  our 
greatest  men  and  women  have  been  educated  in 
them,  you  must  recall.  I  don't  believe  in  finishing 
schools — never  did — they'd  make  Elinor  a  snob. 
As  for  colleges,  unless  a  boy  is  absolutely  sincere  in 
wanting  to  be  a  professional  man,  what  good  would 
they  do  him?  Howard  would  just  get  in  with  the 
idle  rich,  which  in  the  end  would  surely  spell  dis- 
aster for  him  morally  and  financially.  You  see,  my 
dear,  I  want  my  daughter  to  be  a  real  woman  like 
her  mother;  and  my  son,  all  I  ask  is  that  he  be  a 
man!"  He  stopped,  musing. 

Had  Hugh  Benton  not  been  so  interested  in  his 
own  dream,  he  would  have  seen  on  the  face  of  his 
wife  more  varying  emotions  than  he  had  ever  seen 
since  he  had  known  her.  They  would  have  been 
new  to  him.  Disappointment  she  showed,  disap- 
proval, injury,  then,  swiftly  following,  a  real  indig- 
nation in  the  narrowing  to  pin  points  of  the  pupils 
of  her  wide  eyes.  But  when  she  spoke,  it  was  in  a 
meek,  cool  voice. 

"And  what  about  your  wife?" 

Hugh  laughed.  "Why,  everything  for  my  wife," 
he  said.  "You'll  be  chatelaine  of  it  all."  He 
glanced  up  at  her  and  stopped,  fork  suspended  in 
midair  at  the  strange  expression  he  saw.  "Why, 
Marjorie,  little  girl,"  he  queried,  earnestly,  "what's 
wrong?  What  is  it,  dear?" 

Marjorie's  foot  tapped  impatiently  on  the  bare 
floor  of  the  kitchen-dining  room.  She  gave  an  al- 
most imperceptible  shrug. 

"Nothing,"  she  declared,  without  apparent  in- 
terest. "Nothing  at  all — except  that  after  all  these 
five  years  of  privation  and  hard  work,  now  when 
you  have  prospects  of  actually  becoming  wealthy, 
you  sit  there  and  calmly  propose  to  bury  me  on  a 
farm!"  The  scorn  in  the  utterance  of  the  last  words 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT         29 

brought  a  look  of  surprise,  quickly  followed  by  pain 
to  the  eyes  of  Hugh  Benton.  He  spoke,  slowly, 
contritely. 

"I  suppose  I'm  selfish,  like  all  men,"  he  said  sadly, 
"but,  someway,  because  I've  been  so  happy  myself, 
I've  never  known  before  that  the  years  we've  been 
married  had  been  a  burden  to  you." 

Then  the  real  Marjorie  Benton  came  to  the  sur- 
face. She  reached  over  to  grab  his  hand  convul- 
sively. 

"I'm  the  one  to  be  forgiven,  dear,"  she  begged 
contritely.  "Oh,  I  never  meant  that — indeed  I 
didn't— you  know  I've  been  happy.  Oh,  I  didn't 
realize  what  I  was  saying!"  She  forced  back  the 
tears. 

"Of  course,  it  hasn't  been  hard — I've  had  you, 
haven't  I,  and  my  babies,  but  somehow,  I  can't  make 
you  understand  how  I  feel — I'm  all  unstrung.  I 
do  want  to  try  life  in  a  different  sphere  among  an 
entirely  different  class  of  people.  I  can't  help  hav- 
ing aspirations  for  my  children,  can  I,  and  I  can't 
see  anything  ahead  of  them  if  they  are  narrowed 
down  to  a  life  like  ours  has  been.  And  what  could 
I  do  if  we  go  to  live  on  a  farm?  Just  routine — 
monotony — forever !" 

"You  could  do  a  great  deal  of  good,  dear," 
Hugh  answered  gently.  "Think  of  all  the  poor  and 
needy  that  you  could  aid.  You  could  be  a  minister- 
ing angel  right  here  in  our  own  little  town,  for  you 
know  as  well  as  I  do  how  many  there  are  who  would 
be  grateful  to  have  a  helping  hand." 

"So  you  think  being  a  'ministering  angel'  could 
fill  my  life?" 

"Combined  with  the  love  of  your  husband  and 
children,  it  most  assuredly  should.  Why,  dear, 
there  isn't  anything  in  the  world  that  can  bring  you 
such  happiness  as  helping  someone  in  distress." 


30         THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

"Well,  couldn't  I  do  that  in  New  York?"  Mar- 
jorie brightened  a  little.  "There's  lots  of  room  for 
charity  there — I  could  go  in  for  settlement  work  or 
something.  Think  how  much  larger  a  field  I  would 
have  to  'minister'  in!" 

So  earnest  was  his  gravity,  that  he  passed  his 
wife's  bit  of  levity  unheeded. 

"There  you  arel"  he  exclaimed.  "The  field's  too 
large — and  there  are  already  too  many  in  it — 
workers  of  all  kinds, — sincere  and  insincere.  I 
guess  you  could  find  enough  to  do,  if  you  want  to, 
a  lot  nearer  home." 

With  his  usual  manner  of  having  settled  a  matter, 
Hugh  Benton  rose  from  the  little  table  and  yawne'd 
broadly.  He  never  even  thought  as  he  saw  his  wife 
fingering  a  doily,  nervously  folding  and  unfolding  it 
in  creased  patterns,  that  this  was  a  symptom  of 
nervous  tumult. 

"Oh,  well,  I  guess  we're  a  couple  of  kids,"  he  told 
her  with  a  laugh.  "Day  dreaming, — fussing  over 
make  believes.  We  haven't  any  money — yet — Time 
enough  to  argue  when  the  papers  are  signed.  And 
if  I  don't  get  to  bed  pretty  quick  I  won't  be  in  much 
shape  to  talk  to  those  people,  either.  Coming 
along?" 

Marjorie  shook  her  head. 

"Not  for  a  few  minutes.  I  must  put  the  cake 
away.  Butter  and  eggs  still  mean  something,  as 
you've  reminded  me.  So  run  along." 

Deeply  in  love  with  his  wife  as  he  was,  HugH 
Benton  would  not  have  dropped  off  to  sleep  so 
quickly  had  he  known  how  long  his  wife  was  to  sit 
where  he  had  left  her,  brooding  over  their  talk, 
telling  herself  of  his  unfairness,  wearing  herself  into 
a  mood  so  entirely  unlike  herself.  There  was  in- 
deed, something  radically  wrong  with  Marjorie 
Benton,— and  money  was  at  the  bottom  of  it.  Al- 


ready  it  had  made  her  almost  quarrel  with  her  hus- 
band. Now  the  prospect  of  it  had  roused  in  her  a 
bitterness  and  resentment  of  which  she  would  not 
have  believed  herself  capable  a  few  short  weeks 
before. 

When  at  last  she  crept  softly  in  beside  her  sleep- 
ing husband,  it  was  with  the  determination  that  she 
would  not  be  put  aside  in  the  way  Hugh  had  put 
her — that  she  was  going  to  have  one  great  big  say 
as  to  how  that  not-yet-earned  money  was  going  to 
be  spent.  And  none  of  her  plans  included  any  farms 
or  ministering  angels.  Restlessly  she  turned  from 
side  to  side,  unable  to  sleep.  She  was  filled  with 
smoldering  indignation.  Surely  she  was  right  about 
Hugh  treating  her  unfairly.  Wasn't  it  his  duty  to 
live  where  she  would  be  happiest,  if  he  could  afford 
it?  Was  it  right  for  him  to  want  to  please  himself 
only?  And  besides — all  that  talk  about  the  chil- 
dren. Surely  she,  their  mother,  should  know  what 
was  best  for  them.  With  her  last  troubled  waking 
thought  a  determination  to  let  Hugh  understand 
exactly  how  she  stood  in  the  matter  before  he  left 
for  New  York,  she  dropped  into  an  uneasy  slumber. 

A  dream  came.  She  was  walking  through  a  nar- 
row path  in  a  beautiful  garden.  On  each  side  of  her 
were  rows  of  magnificent  roses.  She  gathered  them 
as  she  walked  along.  Repeatedly  a  voice  whispered 
to  her  to  turn  back,  but  she  ignored  the  warning, 
and  went  on  her  way  blithely.  As  she  reached  a 
bend  in  the  path  and  was  about  to  turn  into  it  Hugh 
suddenly  appeared  before  her.  He,  too,  implored 
her  to  relinquish  her  roses  and  return  from  whence 
she  came.  She  eyed  him  haughtily  from  hea'd  to 
foot,  and  disdainfully  brushing  aside  his  detaining 
hand,  went  forward.  Then  it  was  that  the  ground 
gave  way  under  her,  and  she  found  herself  slipping 
downward  —  downward,  with  startling  rapidity. 


32        THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

The  weight  of  the  roses  in  her  arms  became  unbear- 
able. It  was  impossible  to  free  herself  from  their 
overwhelming  odor  of  sickening  sweetness;  she  was 
submerged  beneath  them.  In  desperation  she  com- 
manded her  last  ounce  of  strength  and  screamed 
aloud  for  Hugh  to  save  her. 

She  awoke  to  find  him  bending  solicitously  over 
her. 

"What  is  it,  honey?"  he  asked  gently.  "That 
nightmare  must  have  been  dreadful — you  screamed 
so  you  awakened  us  all."  Marjorie  sat  up  in  bed 
dazedly,  rubbing  her  eyes.  Through  the  open  door 
she  saw  Elinor  and  Howard  peeking  at  her  through 
the  bars  of  their  cribs.  "Did  I  scream?"  she  asked 
wonderingly.  "How  silly — I  did  have  a  dreadful 
dream,  but,"  she  sat  up  wide  awake,  "what  time 
is  it?" 

"Half  past  six." 

"Already?"  She  yawned  a  bit,  but  strangely  was 
not  sleepy.  Sudden  memory  of  her  determination 
came  to  her.  "Well,  then,  I'm  going  to  get  up  and 
dress  the  babies  as  long  as  I  scared  them  out  or  their 
sleep.  I'll  start  them  with  their  breakfast,  then  I 
want  to  have  a  talk  with  you,  Hugh." 

Hugh  groaned  with  mock  seriousness. 

"Can't  a  fellow  even  go  to  the  big  town  to  make 
a  million  dollars  without  having  to  carry  a  lot  of 
samples  to  match  or  have  to  bring  home  an 
aluminum  pan  or  something?" 

But  there  was  no  answering  light  of  humor  from 
his  wife.  How  little  Hugh  knew  how  serious  had 
been  their  talk  of  the  night  before,  she  thought  as 
she  deftly  swung  little  Elinor  around  to  fasten  her 
tiny  rompers.  Well,  he  would  know  before  he  left 
that  she  was  not  going  to  let  him  have  his  own  way 
without  a  word  from  her. 

As  a  usual  thing  Hugh's  not  over-melodious  whis- 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT         33 

ding  as  he  shaved  and  dressed  was  a  pleasure  to 
her.  She  thought  of  him  as  a  big  boy,  a  grown-up 
edition  of  her  own  small  Howard,  and  it  was  with 
an  indulgent  smile  that  she  would  listen  to  him  as 
she  hurried  the  children  with  their  breakfasts  while 
his  coffee  was  being  prepared  and  the  little  table 
set  for  their  own  breakfast.  This  morning,  how- 
ever, it  had  a  strangely  disturbing  effect.  Somehow 
she  wished  he  wouldn't  do  it.  He  sounded  so — 
well,  so  overconfident.  Of  course,  she  was  glad  if 
he  felt  confident  of  the  success  of  his  mission  in  New 
York,  but  he  shouldn't  be  planning,  as  she  knew  he 
was,  to  spend  their  money  as  he  had  proposed  the 
night  before. 

But  Hugh  was  so  full  of  his  plans  for  selling  his 
invention,  so  eager  in  his  hurried  talk,  that  he  never 
noticed  her  attitude,  her  unusual  silence  as  she 
opened  his  eggs,  spilling  them  a  little  as  her  hand 
trembled  with  the  indignation  that  she  had  nursed 
through  the  night.  He  hurried  through  the  last 
mouthful,  rose  and  started  to  put  on  his  overcoat. 

"Got  to  hurry  a  little  in  spite  of  our  early  start, 
honey,"  he  observed,  glancing  at  his  watch.  "Hurry 
up  with  your  orders  for  the  head  of  the  house." 

Still  Marjorie  Benton  was  silent  until  she  had 
followed  her  husband  from  the  kitchen  out  onto  the 
little  porch  and  closed  the  door  behind  her. 

"Hugh,"  she  began,  and  there  was  firmness  and 
determination  in  her  tone  and  in  the  set  of  her 
daintily-molded  young  chin.  "I'm  sorry  to  have  to 
say  this,  but  I  can't  let  you  go  off  to  New  York  until 
we  come  to  a  decision  about  the  matter  of  which  we 
spoke  last  night." 

"What  matter?"  For  the  minute,  his  mind  far 
away  on  what  he  intended  to  do,  the  master  of  the 
house  of  Benton  had  forgotten  the  talk  which  had 
come  to  mean  so  much  to  his  wife.  Then  a  light 


34 

dawned  on  him,  and  he  grinned.  "Oh,  yes,  I  re- 
member," and  his  light  laugh  only  further  annoyed 
Marjorie,  "we  spent  several  million  dollars  in  sev- 
eral different  ways,  didn't  we?" 

"It's  no  laughing  matter,  Hugh."  At  last  Hugh 
turned  his  wondering  gaze  on  his  wife's  set  face 
to  see  that  she  was  really  in  earnest.  "Why, 
honey " 

"Oh,  it's  all  right  to  put  me  off  with  sweet  words," 
Marjorie  burst  out  with  a  sudden  impatience,  "but 
we  must  have  an  understanding  before  you  go.  It's 
just  as  well  for  you  to  know  I  won't  be  shut  up  in 
anybody's  farm  house." 

The  man  glanced  again  at  his  watch,  and  all  the 
smile  had  died  from  his  eyes  as  he  spoke  quietly. 

"Don't  you  think  it  just  a  little  unfair  to  bring 
up  unpleasant  things  to-day,  of  all  days — when  I 
ought  not  to  think  of  anything  but  business.  Trivial 
annoyances  of  this  kind  are  anything  but  pleasant 
at  any  time,  but " 

"Trivial  possibly  to  you,"  Marjorie  retorted,  and 
her  face  flushed  darkly  as  she  bit  her  lips  to  keep 
back  the  tears  that  were  imminent,  "but  it's  a 
serious  matter  to  me,  and  I  want  you  to  know  ex- 
actly how  I  feel.  I  think  it  is  but  right  that  you 
should,  before  even  another  step  is  taken.  It  is  just 
this.  Not  only  do  I  positively  refuse  to  live  on  a 
farm,  but  I  will  not  have  my  children  given  a  public- 
school  education  if  I  can  afford  to  give  them  any 
other!" 

"Said  it  all?"  Hugh  bit  off  his  words,  and  there 
was  a  graveness  and  injury  in  his  manner  that  was 
new  to  Marjorie,  and  which  she  did  not  fail  to 
catch.  "If  you  have,  I  think  I'd  better  be  getting 
along,  or  we  may  not  have  any  money  to  quarrel 
over!" 

Chameleon  that  she  was,  Marjorie  Benton  was 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT         35 

changed  in  a  minute.  One  soft  arm  reached  up  to 
cling  around  her  husband's  neck,  while  she  pulled 
him  toward  her  by  one  overcoat  lapel. 

"Oh,  Hugh  dear,  we  weren't  quarreling,  were  we? 
Please  say  we  weren't!  Why,  we've  never  had  a 
quarrel  in  our  lives,  and — oh,  I  just  wanted  you 
to  know  how  I  feel,  and  try  to  think  as  I  do.  You 
will,  won't  you?" 

Hugh  Benton  bent  an'd  kissed  both  :eyes  that 
looked  at  him  so  beseechingly. 

"I'll  try,  dear,"  was  his  grave  promise.  "You 
know  that  your  happiness  is  all  that  concerns  me, 
just  as  you  know  it  is  for  you  that  I  want  to  put  this 
thing  across  at  all." 

Marjorie  Benton  sighed  with  happiness  as  she 
bade  her  husband  good-by.  What  a  good  place 
the  world  was  after  all! 

Busy  as  she  was  through  the  day,  Mrs.  Hugh 
Benton  often  thought  afterward  that  it  was  the 
longest  day  of  her  life.  It  seemed  that  night  and 
the  train  that  would  bring  Hugh  back — back  to  her 
with  the  good  news  that  she  was  sure  he  would  bring 
— would  never  come. 

In  the  afternoon  there  was  one  slight  diversion. 
Mrs.  Birmingham's  big  car  stopped  outside  her 
gate,  and  the  great  lady  herself  came  into  Marjorie's 
humble  little  home  bearing  the  books  she  had 
promised  the  day  before.  But  for  once  in  her  life, 
Marjorie  was  not  in  the  least  interested  in  the  chat- 
ter of  the  banker's  wife.  She  did  not  even  take  the 
trouble  to  offer  any  prideful  reason  for  Hugh's  ab- 
sence in  New  York.  She  only  wanted  to  be  alone 
to  think  what  he  was  doing,  and  to  plan  what  they 
would  all  do  with  the  wealth  he  would  lavish  on 
them. 

Four  o'clock,  five — six  at  last.     Time  for  How- 


36         THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

ard's  and  Elinor's  supper.  At  last  they  were  in  bed. 
The  last  question  was  answered,  little  Elinor's  eyes 
shutting  tightly  in  spite  of  herself  as  she  crooned 
the  last  lines  of  her  "Wock-a  baby"  she  had  had  in 
mother's  lap. 

Alone,  Marjorie  was  distinctly  restless.  She  even 
began  to  be  sorry  she  had  not  sent  for  Mrs.  Clancy, 
and  once  even  started  for  the  telephone  to  send  for 
the  garrulous  old  lady.  It  was  such  a  long  time  be- 
tween six-thirty  and  mid-night.  But  no,  she  would 
find  something  to  do.  It  was  not  with  a  great  deal 
of  success  that  she  tried  to  busy  herself,  however. 
She  straightened  out  the  sideboard  drawers.  An- 
other half  hour  gone.  There  was  a  lot  of  mending 
piled  in  her  sewing  basket,  but  somehow  she  did  not 
feel  like  that  now.  She  contented  herself  with  re- 
arranging its  contents.  Scattered  about  were  a  lot 
of  magazines  she  and  Hugh  had  finished  reading. 
Now  was  a  good  time  to  tie  them  up  to  be  sent  to 
the  infirmary.  She  straightened  up  from  this  task 
to  glance  at  the  clock  which  had  never  ticked  so 
slowly  before.  Why,  it  was  only  a  little  after  seven 
now!  Her  eyes  wandered  to  the  table  where  she 
had  placed  the  gayly  bound  books  Mrs.  Birmingham 
had  brought.  She  idly  turned  the  pages  of  one.  It 
did  not  look  uninteresting.  Once  more  her  hand 
reached  out  for  a  moment  through  habit  for  the 
mending  basket.  Then  she  laughed  as  she  withdrew 
it.  What  was  the  use?  They  wouldn't  have  to  be 
wearing  mended  things  much  longer,  any  of  them. 
She  might  as  well  read  until  Hugh's  train  reached 
Atwood. 

"I'll  fincl  out  just  how  Mrs.  Birmingham's  sister's 
taste  in  literature  runs,"  she  mused,  "though  I  doubt 
if  Mrs.  B.  will  ever  profit  very  much  this  time  by 
having  her  books  read  for  her." 

Another  shovelful  of  coal  for  the  fire,  and  with  the 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT         37 

big  wicker  chair  drawn  up  in  front  of  it,  Marjorie 
Benton  gave  herself  a  little  shake  to  settle  down  com- 
fortably as  she  opened  her  book  and  slipped  her 
fingers  between  its  pages  to  find  if  there  were  any 
uncut  leaves.  For  the  first  time  that  day,  she  forgot 
the  passage  of  time.  Page  after  page  she  turned 
as  the  clock  ticked  on,  striking  its  hours  and  half 
hours  unheeded.  It  was  a  fascinating  story,  at  that. 

The  soft  closing  of  the  kitchen  door  caused  her 
to  look  up  with  a  start.  She  jumped  to  her  feet  as 
though  she  could  not  believe  her  eyes.  There  was 
Hugh  standing  before  her,  a  wide  bland  smile  on 
his  handsome  face  as  he  drew  off  a  brand  new  glove. 

"Hugh,  dear!"  she  exclaimed,  "how  you  startled 
me!  I  didn't  hear  you  come  up  the  walk — why,  I 
didn't  even  hear  the  train!  Did  you  get  an  earlier 
one?  What  time  is  it?" 

"Ten  after  twelve,  honey,"  he  answered.  "You 
must  have  been  reading  something  mighty  good,  and 
here  I  came  in  so  quietly.  Thought  you'd  be 
asleep!" 

"Asleep!  Oh,  how  could  you!  Don't  you  know 
I'm  just  perishing  to  know  what  happened!  Tell 
me — quick,  quick!" 

Hugh  Benton's  ready  grin  broadened.  He  was 
teasingly  slow  in  answering  as  his  hand  went  into  his 
pocket  and  he  drew  out  a  wallet,  and  with  madden- 
ing slowness  drew  from  it  a  certified  check. 

"Just  a  scrap  of  paper,"  he  commented  off-hand- 
edly,  "but  this  will  tell  you  what  you  want  to  know, 
and  then  I'll  tell  you  the  rest." 

Marjorie's  eyes  widened  with  amazement  at  the 
startling  figures  on  the  face  of  the  small  piece  of 
paper  he  dangled  before  her.  She  was  too  choked 
with  emotion  for  a  moment  to  speak.  Her  hus- 
band's arms  closed  gently  around  her  and  he  drew 
her  to  him. 


3  8         THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

"We  did  it,  dear — you  and  I,"  he  whispered. 
"And  it's  all  for  you.  This  is  only  a  starter,  too, 
for  if  you  think  this  is  big,  you  ought  to  see  the 
contracts  I've  made  for  royalties." 

"Hugh!  Hugh!"  Marjorie's  voice  was  a  sob  as 
she  kissed  him  again  and  again.  "Oh,  I'm  too 
happy  to  tell  you !  Oh,  please  don't  wake  me  out  of 
this  wonderful  dream!" 

"Well,  I,  for  one,"  Hugh  laughed  as  he  slipped 
the  check  between  his  fingers,  "am  too  used  to  han- 
dling these  things  belonging  to  other  people  to  think 
this  is  a  dream.  There  is  only  one  thing  I'm  think- 
ing of,  and  that  is  your  happiness."  Marjorie 
drew  back  from  him  a  step  and  looked  levelly  into 
his  eyes. 

"Are  you  quite,  quite  sure,  Hugh  dear?"  she 
begged  earnestly. 

"Quite."  In  that  one  word  Hugh  Benton  put  a 
world  of  meaning.  "I've  had  plenty  of  time  to 
think,  too — and  I've  decided.  You  shall  do  with 
this  money  just  exactly  as  you  please.  Whatever 
your  plans  are,  they  must  be  for  the  best,  so  I  have 
given  up  all  thoughts  of  the  farm.  And  now  that's 
settled,"  he  said,  in  the  old  way,  giving  himself  a 
little  shake  of  renunciation. 

"Oh,  Hugh,  you  are  a  darling!  And  you'll  never 
regret  it — never  regret  letting  me  have  my  way  in 
this  one  big  thing.  I  promise  you!" 

For  a  moment  the  big  man's  eyes  were  solemn. 
Into  them  came  just  a  hint  of  that  far-away  look  of 
wonder.  But  his  voice  was  tender,  if  a  bit  grave 
as  he  spoke: 

"Let's  hope  not,  sweetheart — let's  hope  not!" 


CHAPTER  IV 

CHRISTMAS  EVE  in  the  new  home! 
A  Christmas  tree  that  glittered  and  dazzled 
with  its  festoons  of  twinkling  little  bulbs  of 
sapphire  and  gold,  ruby,  and  orange,  and  violet,  and 
pale  lemon  from  its  wide-spreading  base  in  the  center 
of  the  Bentons'  upstairs  living  room  of  their  four- 
teen-room  house  on  that  most  wonderful  of  drive- 
ways, Riverside,  in  New  York — to  the  top-most 
branch  that  swept  the  high  creamy  ceiling  jostling  the 
fine  bisque  cherub  that  adorned  that  branch —  And 
a  house  warming. 

As  Marjorie  Benton  with  a  long-drawn  sigh  of 
contentment  looked  for  the  hundredth  time  about  this 
one  new  big  room  with  its  sweeping  spaces,  its  gay 
cretonnes  and  deep,  cushion-piled  wicker  chairs  and 
out  through  the  row  of  French  windows  across  the 
dusky  blue  of  the  Hudson  to  the  Palisades  with  their 
twinkling  starlights,  she  felt  that  life  at  last  was 
worth  living.  All  this — all — and  her  arms  moved 
in  a  comprehensive  gesture  impelled  by  her  thoughts 
— was  hers!  Her  home!  What  more  fitting  than 
that  they  should  have  their  house  warming  on  Christ- 
mas Eve.  Marjorie's  tired  nerves  and  body  that 
ached  a  bit,  too,  in  sympathy,  reminded  her  that 
she  had  not  been  able  to  have  all  this  ready  for 
Christmas  Eve  without  effort.  But  how  glad  she 
was  that  she  had  done  it!  Glad! 

True,  Hugh  was  glooming  a  little — sentimental 
glooming  for  a  time  he  should  be  glad  to  have  put 
behind  him,  but  he  would  get  over  that  she  was  sure. 
He  would  come  to  see  that  her  judgment  was  best, 
and  that  this  was  the  way  to  live.  Once  more  she 

39 


4o         THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

sighed  with  utter  contentment  as  she  rearranged  a 
heavy  strand  of  silver  tinsel  that  dangled  inartis- 
tically.  It  was  all  ready  for  the  children  now  and 
she  could  take  time  to  breathe.  In  a  deep  chair  in 
front  of  the  sputtering  open  fire  on  its  quaintly  tiled 
hearth  she  dropped  down  for  a  moment's  rest  and 
retrospection. 

How  busy  and  interesting  had  been  the  few  short 
months  that  had  passed  since  the  night  Hugh  had 
come  home  to  her  in  Atwood  with  his  wonderful 
news ! 

They  had  been  most  fortunate  in  securing  the 
services  of  a  capable  and  competent  nurse  for  the 
children,  so  they  could  catch  the  early  train  to  New 
York  every  day  on  their  house-hunting  expeditions. 
Their  reward  had  been  this  beautiful  little  house  on 
the  Drive,  with  its  view  of  the  Hudson.  To  Mar- 
jorie  it  seemed  a  mansion  with  its  fourteen  rooms, 
its  servants'  quarters  in  the  attic,  their  garage  with 
space  for  three  cars,  and  oh,  so  many  more  things 
she  had  not  at  first  thought  of  herself. 

Then  had  begun  the  real  work  and  pleasure  of 
furnishing  it.  What  a  never-changing  miracle  it  was 
to  Marjorie  to  be  able  to  select  whatsoever  she 
wished  without  having  to  hesitate  and  consider  the 
price  and  durability  of  each  article  as  she  had  always 
been  obliged  to  do. 

Every  detail  had  been  completed  a  few  days  be- 
fore Christmas,  when  they  bade  farewell  to  their 
friends  and  the  little  village  with  its  memories  of 
five  happy  years,  and  moved  into  the  new  home. 

Stretched  lazily  on  Marjorie's  wicker  chaise 
longue,  smoking  his  after-'dinner  cigar,  careless  of 
his  tumbling  of  his  wife's  carefully  selected  new 
pillows,  Hugh  Benton  let  his  gaze  rove  over  the 
vivid  scene.  It  paused  as  his  eyes  reached  his  wife 
sitting  before  the  cheery  fire,  her  slight  smile  telling 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT        41 

of  what  she  saw  in  the  blazing  logs.  Because  they 
were  so  close,  so  much  to  each  other,  Marjorie  Ben- 
ton  felt  this  and  as  she  turned  in  Hugh's  direction, 
her  smile  broadened  as  her  features  lighted  up  with 
expressed  happiness.  In  a  moment  she  was  by  his 
side,  kneeling  on  a  cushion  in  the  old  familiar  child 
manner  her  husband  knew  and  loved,  and  her  fingers 
were  running  caressingly  through  his  shock  of  dark 
hair. 

uWhat  do  you  think  of  it  all,  dear?"  she  asked 
'exultingly.  "Isn't  the  tree  wonderful?  I  think 
those  decorators  were  marvelous,  but  I  guess  I'm 
not  quite  used  to  money  yet,  for  I  almost  dread  to 
think  of  the  bill  they'll  present." 

Slowly  Hugh  sat  up,  and  reached  for  her  hand. 
He  patted  it  gently  as  he  spoke. 

"It  has  all  been  wonderful,  dear,"  he  answered, 
"and  you  mustn't  forget  you're  to  forget  the  bills — 
but  honey-girl,"  and  there  was  a  little  droop  to  the 
corners  of  his  mouth  and  unmistakable  yearning  in 
his  earnest  eyes  as  he  voiced  his  plaint,  "somehow 
I  can't  help  missing  the  little  old  Christmas  Eves  we 
always  had  at  Atwood.  Remember  how  you  and  I 
would  sit  up  nights  ahead  stringing  popcorn,  gilding 
walnuts,  tinseling  cotton  to  represent  snow,  and 
doing  everything  we  could  to  have  a  pretty,  effective 
tree  for  the  kiddies,  without  hardly  investing  any- 
thing?'; 

Marjorie  laughed  as  she  gave  his  hand  a  playful 
squeeze.  To  her  it  was  incomprehensible,  with  all 
this  grandeur  before  him,  that  Hugh  should  regret 
the  Atwood  days. 

"How  funny,  those  other  little  trees  were  com- 
pared with  this  one,  weren't  they?"  she  wanted  to 
know. 

But  there  was  no  gleam  of  answering  mirth  from 
Hugh. 


42         THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

"Umm,  funny,  maybe,"  he  agreed  with  an  air  o£ 
reservation.  But  there  was  a  fuller  meaning  than 
Marjorie  caught,  as  he  added:  "You're  right — one 
couldn't  possibly  compare  those  other  trees  with 
this.  Still,"  and  he  was  so  plaintively  appealing 
that  his  wife's  clear  laughter  rang  out  more  bub- 
blingly  than  ever,  "still,  we  got  a  lot  of  happiness 
out  of  those  funny  little  trees,  didn't  we,  dear?" 

Marjorie  was  not  going  to  commit  herself  too  far. 

"Yes — I  suppose  we  did,"  was  her  reluctant  ad- 
mission. 

"And  say,  do  you  remember,"  Hugh  rambled  on, 
his  eyes  aglow  with  animation,  "the  night  we  cut 
out  the  movies  to  buy  two  whole  ornaments  the 
next  day — I'll  tell  you " 

Marjorie  stopped  him  a*  little  impatiently.  She 
playfully  placed  her  hand  over  his  mouth. 

"Now,  Hugh  darling,  don't  lecture — there's  a 
good  boy  I  I'm  not  going  to  let  you  on  Christmas 
Eve.  You're  just  not  used  to  things  yet.  When  you 
are,  you'll  just  be  bound  to  admit  you  have  the  wisest 
little  wife  in  the  world — "  She  stopped  his  protest 
with  a  quick  caress  as  she  got  to  her  feet,  and  went 
over  to  the  tree  to  place  a  life-like  big  doll  and  a 
"really,  truly"  railroad  train  in  more  conspicuous 
positions. 

"It  is  beautiful,  though,  isn't  it,  dear?"  she  re- 
peated, and  without  waiting  for  his  reply,  hurried 
on:  "There  are  two  people  I  know  who'll  think  so 
if  you  don't.  Just  wait  till  you  see  their  eyes  in  the 
morning  1" 

She  stifled  an  unwelcome  yawn  with  the  pat  of 
fingers. 

"More  tired  than  I  thought,  dear,"  she  admitted. 
"I  really  must  get  some  sleep.  There's  so  much  to 
enjoy  to-morrow.  Coming  along,  or  are  you  going 
to  smoke  for  awhile?" 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT         43 

"Believe  I'll  finish  my  cigar.  Don't  stay  awake 
waiting  for  me  now — good-night,  dearest,  pleasant 
dreams,  and  a  world  of  happy  Christmases  before 
you,"  and  he  kissed  her  as  he  opened  the  door  for 
her,  in  the  old-world  manner  he  never  neglected. 

Alone,  Hugh  Benton  extinguished  all  the  lights 
in  the  room,  even  those  on  the  tree,  and  seated  him- 
self in  the  rocker  before  the  fire.  For  a  long  time 
he  sat  smoking  his  cigar,  gazing  into  the  dying 
embers.  His  thoughts  were  of  many  things — of  his 
years  of  unalloyed  happiness — of  his  great  love  for 
his  wife  and  babies,  and  then  of  this  newly-acquired 
fortune.  Marjorie's  theory  of  living  he  at  last  con- 
cluded appeared  to  be  more  sensible  than  his  own, 
after  all,  and  when  he  finally  arose,  it  was  with  the 
full  determination  to  use  every  power  within  his 
grasp  to  meet  all  the  requirements  due  this  new  po- 
sition of  his.  He  would  mold  his  life  anew;  be- 
come a  man  of  affairs.  With  all  that  was  in  him 
he  would  strive  diligently  to  reach  the  pinnacle  of 
success  that  his  ambitious  wife  had  planned  for 
him. 

Boredom  has  long  been  the  common  complaint  of 
the  idle  rich.  Many  things  are  excused  because  of 
it;  many  useless  and  reckless  occupations  condoned 
for  and  by  that  favored  class  on  the  ground  that  the 
time  passes  so  slowly  that  they  must  have  something 
to  do.  Whether  or  no  this  is  exactly  the  case,  how- 
ever, is  a  moot  question.  To  come  right  down  to 
it,  time  generally  passes  a  great  deal  more  quickly 
for  those  who  have  more  store  of  worldly  goods 
than  they  would  wish.  To  the  woman  of  fashion 
and  wealth  months  and  days  seem  actually  to  have 
flown  by  from  the  time  she  made  her  more  or  less 
blushing  debut  until  she  suddenly  wakes  one  day 
to  realize  that  there  is  gray  in  her  hair,  and  that  it 


44         THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

will  take  arduous  hours  at  the  beauty  parlors  to 
smooth  over  the  ravages  of  time  in  a  once-un- 
wrinkled  countenance.  Men,  too — more  often  than 
not  the  man  of  unlimited  means  comes  to  know  that 
middle  life  is  upon  him  and  that  he  has  not  accom- 
plished any  of  the  great  things  that  he  had  once 
planned,  always  having  known  that  with  wealth  to 
back  him  he  could  accomplish  them.  It  is  all  the 
fault  of  time.  It  flies  rapidly — too  rapidly  for  those 
who  have  the  means  for  gratifying  every  wish  and 
whim. 

The  Bentons  were  no  exception  to  the  rule.  Time 
flew  by  on  such  light  wings  for  them  that  it  was 
hard  to  realize  that  so  much  had  been  accomplished, 
so  much  changed  in  the  three  years  that  might  have 
been  so  many  months  since  they  had  left  Atwood 
for  New  York.  Of  them  all,  though,  the  children 
had  most  readily  accustomed  themselves  to  the 
change  and  long  since  had  become  seasoned  little 
New  Yorkers  with  little  noses  turned  up  at  less 
lucky  youngsters  who  had  no  nice  warm  closed  car 
to  command  whenever  they  wished  a  ride. 

Hugh,  too,  at  the  end  of  the  three  years  (though 
his  change  had  been  more  gradual),  might  always 
have  lived  on  Riverside  Drive  and  known  club  life 
since  his  salad  days.  Unlike  his  wife,  who  in  the 
first  flush  of  her  good  fortune  had  elected  play  as 
her  life  work,  Hugh  had  turned  his  attention  to 
work.  Ambitious  as  he  was,  and  before  his  first 
success  with  his  invention  with  no  outlet  for  it,  he 
had  not  let  grass  grow  under  his  feet  since  he  had 
changed  his  cottage  in  Atwood  for  a  house  on  River- 
side Drive.  Personal  attention  to  the  details  of  the 
manufacture  of  his  invention  had  brought  him  in 
contact  with  business  men  of  wealth  and  solidity  and 
deep  down  Hugh  Benton  was  not  the  sort  of  man 
to  neglect  what  opportunity  threw  in  his  way.  From 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT         45 

manufacturing  to  Wall  Street  had  been  but  a  step. 
Had  Hugh  Benton's  lucky  fairy  been  with  him  day 
by  day  to  wave  her  magic  wand,  he  could  not  have 
had  more  fortune  in  his  ventures.  His  was  not  the 
story  of  the  ordinary  novice.  It  was  the  thousandth 
one  that  daily  draws  more  and  more  grist  to  the 
mills  of  the  "big  men"  who  rule  so  autocratically  in 
that  small  street  called  Wall; — the  story  that  draws 
adventurers  with  all  the  fascination  that  fishermen 
who  daily  cast  their  lines  off  the  bathing  beaches 
know  because  of  tales  of  a  solitary  tide  runner  that 
some  time  has  been  known  to  become  unwary. 

So  it  was,  that  at  the  end  of  three  years,  Hugh 
Benton  was  a  rich  man.  He  was  becoming  richer. 
He  might  have  been  a  blood  relation  of  Midas,  said 
those  who  had  come  eagerly  to  watch  for  a  tip  that 
might  fall  from  his  lips  unguardedly,  for  in  so  short 
a  time  his  had  become  the  platitudinous  but  nonethe- 
less expressive  sobriquet  of  "Lucky  Benton." 

With  success,  came  all  that  it  usually  implies. 
His,  too,  had  become  the  pleasures  of  the  rich.  Al- 
most without  knowing  it,  so  subtle  had  come  the 
transformation,  home  no  longer  held  the  joys  it 
once  did  for  the  former  bank  employee.  Roadsters 
of  high  speed,  cards  at  any  of  the  many  clubs  where 
he  had  been  eagerly  welcomed,  fishing  and  hunting 
expeditions  from  the  base  of  a  hundred-thousand- 
dollar  "shack"  in  the  Adirondacks  had  taken  the 
place  of  more  homely  pleasures.  It  had  all  come 
about  so  easily  too.  Looking  back  in  one  of  his  few 
retrospective  moods  Hugh  Benton  smiled  as  he 
recalled  the  thought  he  would  never  accustom  him- 
self to  New  York.  He  smiled  a  bit  disdainfully  at 
his  own  small  viewpoint  when  he  remembered  how 
once  he  had  believed  he  would  be  content  as  a  gentle- 
man farmer. 

Only  Marjorie  Benton  was  dissatisfied,   though 


46         THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

she  was  queerly  conscious  that  she  ought  not  to  be 
— that  she  had  everything  that  she  had  once  so  sin- 
cerely believed  necessary  to  her  happiness.  The 
artificiality  of  all  about  her  had  come  to  her  with 
a  shock,  an  eye  opening  all  the  more  distressing  be- 
cause of  its  suddenness.  Marjorie  Benton  had 
found  out  she  did  not  know  how  to  play.  More, 
she  had  discovered  she  did  not  want  to.  At  least 
she  did  not  want  to  play  as  did  those  with  whom  she 
came  in  contact  and  who  had,  from  the  horizon  of 
Atwood,  seemed  all  that  was  most  desirable  in  the 
world.  For  instance,  one  of  her  most  eager  plans 
when  she  once  put  herself  to  sleep  planning  was  to 
play  bridge  and  spend  wonderful  afternoons  in  the 
company  of  cultured  and  delightful  women  such  as 
those  of  whom  she  had  read  and  whom  she  hoped 
to  emulate.  One  of  her  first  steps  had  been  to  get 
an  instructress,  so  that  she  would  be  prepared  to 
enter  "society." 

It  had  not  been  hard  for  the  Bentons  to  enter 
the  charmed  circle.  It  had  been  surprisingly  easy, 
in  fact,  for  Hugh's  financial  success  opened  many 
doors  that  might  otherwise  have  been  barred,  and 
present-day  "society"  may  well  be  trusted  not  to 
overlook  the  tales  the  journals  have  to  tell  of  sudden 
wealth  (and  Hugh  had  proven  good  copy)  however 
much  they  may  profess  to  scorn  it. 

So  she  had  met  a  great  many  people,  as  the  wives 
of  Hugh's  friends  had  called  and  invited  her  to  one 
affair  after  the  other.  At  first  she  had  been  fairly 
beside  herself  with  joy.  But  it  was  of  short  dura- 
tion. Try  as  she  would,  she  simply  could  not  "take" 
to  any  of  these  new  friends.  They  were  all  so  frivo- 
lous and  petty.  Life  held  nothing  for  them  obvi- 
ously but  bridge,  dress,  theater  and  gossip. 

Then  had  come  the  day  of  her  own  first  bridge 
party  and  her  first  real  shock  and  mute  protest. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT        4? 

Somehow  the  thought  of  playing  for  money  had 
never  entered  her  mind.  She  had  imagined  that  they 
played  for  a  prize,  the  same  as  they  had  done  at 
home  at  their  little  whist  socials;  or  perhaps  society 
matrons  simply  played  for  amusement. 

"You  must  be  particularly  nice  to  Mrs.  Gregory," 
Hugh  told  her  when  she  was  starting  off  for  the 
bridge  party  at  the  exclusive  Mrs.  Arnold's  Fifth 
Avenue  home.  "She's  one  of  'the'  Gregorys,  you 
know,  and  it  will  mean  a  great  deal  socially  to  have 
her  good  will." 

Marjorie  promised.  This  would  not  be  hard,  for 
was  it  not  her  way  to  be  particularly  nice  to  all  her 
own  and  her  husband's  friends  and  acquaintances? 
It  was  Mrs.  Gregory  who  gave  Mrs.  Hugh  Benton 
her  surprise  and  shock,  however.  At  the  table  where 
she  sat  with  three  other  players,  including  Hugh's 
Mrs.  Gregory,  Mrs.  Allen  cut  the  cards  languidly 
and  remarked: 

"Well,  what  shall  it  be?  May  I  suggest  a  quarter 
of  a  cent?" 

Mrs.  Gregory  suppressed  a  polite  yawn. 

"Oh,  my  dear!"  was  her  reproof.  "How  can  you 
suggest  wasting  our  time  so !  You  know  I  never  play 
for  anything  less  than  two  cents — it's  boring  enough 
even  then." 

So  Marjorie  Benton  played  for  money.  She  had 
not  in  the  least  intended  to,  but  she  was  too  embar- 
rassed to  utter  a  protest.  She  played,  and  with  a 
mind  perturbed,  of  course,  played  badly.  At  the  end 
of  the  afternoon  she  had  lost  sixty  dollars.  Her 
cheeks  burned  as  she  made  out  her  check  and  laid 
it  on  the  table. 

All  the  way  home  as  she  sat  comfortably  in  her 
limousine  she  thought  of  it.  It  wasn't  the  money — • 
sixty  dollars  meant  nothing  to  Marjorie  Benton — • 
she  would  have  felt  precisely  the  same  had  she  won. 


48        THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

It  was  the  principle  of  the  thing  that  worried  her 
— she  felt  utterly  debased  to  think  that  she  had  spent 
an  afternoon  gambling.  She  couldn't  imagine  just 
why  it  should  affect  her  that  way,  unless  it  was  her 
puritanical  upbringing  that  arose  to  the  surface,  de- 
spite all  her  efforts  to  force  it  back. 

When  she  told  Hugh  about  it,  he  laughed,  and 
called  her  a  "little  old-fashioned  country  girl." 

"Have  you  forgotten  about  'living  in  Rome,' 
honey?"  he  said  lightly.  "Don't  let  it  upset  you. 
You'll  get  used  to  it!" 

But  Marjorie  knew  better.  There  was  only  one 
thing  to  do.  So  never  again  did  she  play  bridge. 
Bridge  bored  her,  she  insisted,  and  she  didn't 
enjoy  it. 

With  everything  else  it  was  the  same.  She 
couldn't  accustom  herself  to  seeing  the  women  drink 
cocktails  at  a  luncheon,  and  the  first  time  they  passed 
their  cigarette  cases  she  almost  gasped.  But  the 
thing  that  disgusted  her  above  all  else  was  the  deceit 
that  she  discovered  all  about  her. 

Her  eyes  were  opened  to  this.  One  afternoon  she 
called  on  Mrs.  James,  society  matron,  and  the  wife 
of  one  of  Hugh's  friends.  When  she  entered  the 
room,  three  women  she  had  met  previously  were 
seated  at  the  tea-table.  Their  conversation  ceasecl 
as  abruptly  as  if  a  curtain  had  been  rung  down  in 
the  middle  of  an  act.  She  paid  little  attention  to  the 
matter  at  the  time,  as  they  were  all  so  charming  in 
their  manner  toward  her,  and  greeted  her  so  effu- 
sively. 

For  a  while  they  discussed  inconsequential  topics, 
and  then  their  conversation  drifted  to  another 
woman,  a  member  of  their  own  set.  At  first  there 
wasn't  anything  really  offensive  in  their  remarks.. 
It  merely  brought  to  the  surface  a  feline  quality  un- 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT         49 

suspected.  But  the  conversation  changed  suddenly. 
To  Marjorie  it  seemed  these  women  surely  couldn't 
realize  what  they  were  saying.  Like  a  pack  of 
hungry  wolves,  they  tore  the  woman  they  discussed 
into  shreds. 

Dumfounded,  Marjorie  sat  and  listened.  She 
eouldn't  believe  it  possible  that  four  women  could 
say  such  scandalous  things  of  another  they  called 
friend.  She  was  sure  their  assertions  were  untrue, 
as  they  insinuated  things  impossible  for  anyone  to 
know.  They  surmised  -merely,  and  it  was  upon  such 
scant  evidence  that  they  set  about  to  wreck  a  woman's 
reputation.  She  felt  that  she  could  tolerate  it  no 
longer,  and  was  about  to  protest,  when  the  woman 
who  had  been  under  the  hammer  entered  the  room. 

To  Marjorie's  consternation  and  amazement  the 
four  eager  talkers  welcomed  the  newcomer  with  open 
arms.  Their  terms  of  affectionate  endearment 
seemed  revolting,  but  it  was  when  one  effusively 
gushed:  "Your  ears  must  be  burning,  dear,  we  were 
just  discussing  you  and  remarking  how  unkind  you 
were  to  deprive  us  of  your  charming  society  for  so 
long  a  time,"  that  Marjorie  felt  that  she  had  reached 
the  limit  of  her  endurance,  and  pleading  an  impor- 
tant engagement,  hurried  away. 

Before  she  reached  home,  she  remembered  how 
strangely  they  had  all  acted  when  she  entered  the 
room.  Like  a  clear  light  it  dawned  on  her  that  they 
must  have  been  discussing  her  just  as  they  had  this 
other  woman. 

Instances  of  this  sort  taught  her  shallowness  and 
insincerity  of  the  people  with  whom  she  had  chosen 
to  mingle,  so  she  managed  to  see  less  and  less  of 
them  all.  Instead,  she  tried  to  interest  herself  in 
charity,  and  again  she  failed.  Whenever  she 
decided  to  do  a  kindness,  a  reporter  would  rush 


5o         THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

in,  demand  her  picture  for  the  front  page  of  the 
society  section,  and  make  a  sensation  out  of  nothing 
at  all. 

Many  women  would  have  craved  that  very  thing, 
and  derived  great  pleasure  from  it.  But  not  Mar- 
jorie  Benton.  With  true  gentility  she  shrank  from 
publicity.  If  she  wanted  to  help  those  in  distress, 
she  wanted  to  do  it  alone,  in  her  own  way,  without 
having  the  whole  world  know  of  it. 

She  spent  as  much  time  as  she  could  with  the  chil- 
dren while  they  were  small,  but  as  they  grew  older 
and  tutors  and  governesses  took  the  place  of  nurses, 
she  found  herself  more  and  more  lonely. 

Once  when  Hugh  asked  her  if  she  were  happy,  for 
a  moment  the  inclination  was  strong  to  open  up  her 
heart  and  tell  him  exactly  how  she  felt — but  the 
thought  of  the  children  forced  her  to  conquer  it. 
For  their  sakes  she  would  utter  no  word  of  com- 
plaint; her  own  feelings  must  be  sacrificed  for  them 
and  for  her  plans  for  their  education  and  futures. 

At  the  expiration  of  the  five  years'  lease  on  their 
home,  Hugh  purchased  a  magnificent  home,  within 
easy  motoring  distance  of  New  York.  A  small  army 
of  servants  were  engaged  to  take  charge  of  it. 

Then  for  a  time,  Marjorie  Benton  was  again 
happy.  Always  she  had  wanted  just  such  gardens 
as  Hugh's  increased  fortune  made  possible  on  their 
new  estate.  Exquisite  rare  flowers  diffused  their 
perfume;  shaded  walks  wound  serpentinely  through 
long  vistas  of  greensward  and  shrubbery;  miniature 
lakes,  crystal  clear  with  water  lilies  on  their  shining 
bosoms;  fountains  that  spouted  and  sparkled  in  the 
sun  that  seemed  never  to  shine  so  fair  as  on  this 
wonder  garden.  At  last  she  had  one  place  of 
dreams-come-true.  Only  the  fine  stone  benches  that 
Hugh  had  imported  were  not  part  of  the  picture  to 
her.  They  were  so  cold  and  hard — so  reminiscent 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT         51 

of  the  people  for  whom  they  were  made.  So,  old- 
fashioned  as  she  had  come  to  admit  herself  to  be, 
Marjorie  Benton  had  her  little  rocker  placed  out  in 
her  garden  and  it  was  here  that  her  happiest  hours 
were  spent,  among  her  cherished  flowers,  wandering 
about,  or  sitting  idly,  reading  or  sewing.  It  dis- 
turbed her  not  one  whit  that  Hugh  found  cause  for 
mirth  in  her  sewing. 

"You  can  have  a  dozen  women  to  do  that  for  you, 
my  dear,"  he  reminded  her.  "I  thought  you  wanted 
to  get  away  from  all  that  sort  of  thing." 

But  Marjorie  only  smiled  her  slow  smile  and 
made  no  attempt  to  make  Hugh  understand  that 
she  wanted  to  do  something — that  she  must  feel 
that  her  time  was  not  all  being  wasted. 

It  was  at  this  period  that  Hugh  Benton  branched 
out  as  a  host.  His  dinners  were  becoming  famous; 
his  week-end  invitations  favors  to  be  eagerly  bid  for. 
The  big  new  house  became  the  scene  of  many  a  social 
event,  and  the  Bentons'  hospitality  a  thing  to  con- 
jure with.  When  her  husband's  friends  were  invited 
for  the  week-end,  a  dinner  party,  or  any  other  sort 
of  entertainment,  Mrs.  Benton  was  a  charming  and 
considerate  hostess.  Somehow,  though,  she  was  al- 
ways in  the  background — she  was  with  them,  but 
never  of  them.  She  had  given  up  even  trying  to 
enter  into  the  spirit  of  their  pleasures  and  amuse- 
ments. 

Her  clothes,  always  of  the  finest  materials  and  ex- 
pensive, lacked  style.  Her  evening  gowns  all  had 
lace  or  net  yokes,  with  sleeves  reaching  to  the  elbow. 
She  wouldn't  wear  a  decollete  gown,  and  to  her 
innermost  self  she  was  forced  to  acknowledge  that 
she  could  not  overcome  her  old-fashioned  notions  of 
propriety. 

Marjorie  couldn't  realize  that  Hugh,  now  the 
ultra-modern  host,  was  the  same  man  who  once  had 


52         THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

protested  with  bitterness  against  their  present 
manner  of  life.  While  Marjorie  stood  still,  his 
steps  dashed  madly  ahead.  He  fairly  reveled  in  it 
all.  As  a  prince  of  good  fellows  he  was  hailed 
among  his  friends.  Money  he  lavished  at  home  and 
abroad;  every  whim  of  the  children  was  indulged 
with  a  recklessness  that  was  ruinous. 

He  couldn't  comprehend  Marjorie's  attitude. 
Surely  this  was  what  she  had  insisted  she  wanted. 
What  was  the  matter  with  women,  anyway?  He 
pleaded  with  her  to  take  her  place  in  society  and 
mingle  more  among  people,  but  uselessly;  he  became 
angry  and  impatient,  and  called  her  attention  to  the 
fact  that  it  was  she  who  had  planned  their  new  life 
and  not  he,  and  at  last  had  come  the  settling  down, 
the  acceptance  of  things  as  they  were,  Marjorie 
going  on  in  her  strait-laced  conventional  way,  not  as 
unhappy  as  she  might  have  been  had  there  not  come 
that  subtle  rift  between  her  and  her  husband  which 
in  five  years  had  reached  undreamed-of  width;  Hugh 
resigned  and  indifferent,  always  kind  and  courteous, 
but  seeking  his  own  pleasure,  and  living  his  life  in  his 
own  way. 

To  Marjorie  Benton  had  come  one  final  pang 
when  Hugh  had  decided  it  would  be  more  agreeable 
and  comfortable  all  around  if  he  had  his  own  suite 
of  rooms.  She  ha'd  dropped  a  few  tears  of  regret 
as  she  arranged  those  rooms  for  him,  and  in 
the  general  upheaval  she  had  come  upon  his  old 
ebony  military  brushes  that  had  so  long  reposed  on 
their  joint  bureau  in  their  bedroom  in  the  Atwood 
cottage.  Marjorie  remembered  how  she  had  got 
them  for  his  birthday,  and  hers  was  a  twisted  little 
smile  as  she  laid  the  little  brushes  down  to  compare 
them  with  Hugh's  new  ones  of  ivory.  How  insig- 
nificant they  looked  1  And  how  dear!  She  turned 
and  her  wide  eyes  roved  through  the  big  room  in 


53 

search  of  familiar  objects.  Yes,  there  was  his 
smelly  old  pipe,  the  slippers  she  had  embroidered 
herself,  a  little  shabby  now  from  much  wear  and 
with  their  gay  flowers  faded,  but —  And  the  little 
beaten  metal  humidor.  It  was  with  a  start  that  she 
looked  up  to  find  Hugh  in  the  room,  giving  instruc- 
tions to  his  impeccable  English  valet.  He  saw  the 
little  pile  on  a  big  wicker  table.  His  hand  shot  out 
to  sweep  them  all  from  their  resting  places  and 
Marjorie  Benton  heard  the  little  metal  clang  ot 
protest  as  they  piled  into  a  waste  paper  basket. 

"Here,  take  all  this  old  junk  out  and  burn  it,"  he 
coolly  advised.  "Enough  stuff  around  here  without 
all  this  old  junk " 

His  wife's  smile  was  wan.  "Old  junk — "  How 
far  Hugh  had  gone  from  the  dear  sentimental  old 
days !  It  seemed  like  so  much  of  the  days  of  Atwood 
were  in  the  same  category.  Was  everything  to  go 
the  same  way — everything  of  that  old  time,  only 
five  years  as  men  counted  time,  but  still  so  infinitely 
of  a  long,  long  ago  to  go  the  same  way,  become 
"old  junk."  It  was  with  a  little  gesture  of  benedic- 
tion that  Marjorie  laid  the  little  ebony  brushes  in 
the  basket  with  the  rest. 

Hugh  turned  to  her  a  little  querulously. 

"My  dear,"  he  observed,  "don't  you  think  it  would 
be  just  as  well  to  let  the  servants  attend  to  this? 
They  probably  think  it  strange  that  you  so  often 
show  such  inclination  to  do  their  work." 

And  meekly  the  woman  left  what  was  to  her  a 
labor  of  love.  She  would  have  liked  Hugh  to  re- 
member when  he  was  in  his  suite  that  it  was  her  care 
that  made  him  so  comfortable.  She  could  have 
thought  of  him  in  his  deep  arm-chair  before  his 
blazing  logs  glancing  at  the  wide  mantel  where  she 
had  placed  photographs  of  herself  and  the  children; 
of  his  smile  when  he  saw  how  carefully  she  had  ar- 


'54         THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

range'd  his  smoking  materials  as  he  had  once  liked 
her  to  arrange  them.  But  Hugh  preferred  differ- 
ently. He  preferred  the  cold,  stolid,  mechanical 
efficiency  of  his  expressionless  English  serving  man. 
Long  Marjorie  Benton  sat  before  her  own  little  fire 
in  her  gold  and  ivory  boudoir  and  thought  it  all  out. 
•What  had  happened  to  them  in  these  five  years? 

After  Hugh's  removal  to  his  own  quarters  there, 
came  times  that  his  wife  often  did  not  see  him  for 
two  or  three  days  at  a  time.  Late  returning  from 
his  club,  he  said  he  did  not  care  to  disturb  her; 
mornings  he  would  leave  too  early  or  else  so  late 
that  he  would  not  take  the  time  to  see  her.  And 
so,  these  two  who  had  once  been  soulmates,  were 
slowly  drifting  apart. 

Marjorie  had  not  even  the  consolation  of  her  chil- 
dren now  partly  to  assuage  the  loneliness  that  she 
had  come  to  admit  was  the  one  thing  in  her  life 
amid  all  the  gaud  that  was  real.  But  there  was 
some  consolation  in  their  very  absence.  She  was 
accomplishing  for  them  all  that  she  had  long  ago 
planned. 

Elinor  was  attending  a  select  school  for  young 
ladies,  and  Howard  had  been  sent  to  prepare  for 
college.  She  counted  the  days  until  Elinor  should 
grow  up  and  once  more  be  at  home.  Then  she  would 
have  a  real  companion.  What  wonderful  times  she 
and  her  daughter  would  have  together.  Of  course, 
Elinor  had  been  willful  and  stubborn  as  a  little  girl, 
but  she  was  confident  that  she  would  leave  all  that 
behind  her  when  she  finished  school. 

And  then  some  day  Howard  would  return  from 
college,  ready  to  take  his  place  in  the  world,  and 
perhaps  after  that  he  would  bring  a  dear,  sweet  girl 
to  her,  and  she  would  have  another  daughter  to  love. 

Dreaming  of  days  to  come,  putting  from  her  mind 
all  she  could  the  days  that  were  gone,  Marjorie 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT         55 

Benton  sat  gazing  into  her  fire  until  the  clang  of 
the  dressing  chimes  reminded  her  that  she  must 
dress.  That  was  something  Hugh  always  insisted 
on.  And  she  got  languidly  to  her  feet  with  a  sense 
of  being  far  from  happy  over  the  prospective  dinner 
as  she  recalled  the  two  effusive,  pompous  business 
friends  Hugh  was  having  to  dinner. 

She  smiled  as  she  saw  her  children's  pictures 
looking  up  at  her  with  answering  smiles  from  their 
gold  frames  in  their  places  on  her  gold-strewn  dress- 
ing table,  the  toilet  things  Hugh  had  given  her  the 
past  Christmas  with  far  less  interest  than  he  had 
her  celluloid  set  long  ago,  the  little  set  she  kept 
tucked  away  in  a  bureau  drawer  so  that  she  might 
use  them  when  she  chose. 

How  sweet  Elinor  was ! 

How  manly  Howard ! 

She  smiled  in  her  old  mother  way  as  she  lifted 
each  picture  and  kissed  it  in  turn.  And  some  day — 
It  could  not  be  long  now — time  flew  so • 

"Things  are  not  so  bad  after  all,  dear  ones,"  she 
whispered  as  she  set  them  down.  "They  could  not 
be  with  any  woman  who  has  such  lovely  children  as 
mine — so  much  happiness  to  look  forward  to." 


And  so  were  bridged  the  years  between. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  Benton  mansion  fairly  blazed  with  lights. 
Everywhere  there  was  suppressed  excitement. 
Even  from  under  the  dignity  of  speckless  uni- 
forms and  brightly  shining  buttons,  there  was  evi- 
dence that  something  unusual  was  in  the  air.  Hurry- 
ing back  and  forth  servants  inspected  minor  details. 
Liveried  attendants  stationed  at  the  door  beside  his 
majesty,  the  butler,  were  in  readiness  to  announce 
the  army  of  guests  expected  to  celebrate  the  debut 
of  the  young  daughter  of  the  house — Miss  Elinor 
Benton. 

Sixteen  years  had  passed  since  Marjorie  and 
Hugh  had  come  to  New  York  to  live — years  that 
had  brought  vaster  changes  to  them  both  than  ;either 
would  have  believed  possible. 

Awaiting  the  arrival  of  his  guests,  Hugh,  proud 
father  and  man  of  the  world,  stood  in  the  center 
of  his  elaborately-decorated  ballroom  and  gazed 
about  with  satisfaction.  The  years  had  dealt  more 
than  kindly  with  Hugh  Benton.  His  appearance 
told  nothing  of  his  forty-four  years.  There  was  no 
trace  of  gray  in  his  thick  dark  hair.  His  love  of 
athletics,  and  the  splendid  ministrations  of  his  valet 
had  kept  his  figure  in  excellent  condition.  Now  his 
handsome  face  wore  an  expression  of  self-satisfac- 
tion. He  might  have  been  taken  for  his  own  sonTs 
brother  as  he  stood  there  waiting. 

He  did  not  at  first  see  the  movement  of  the  trail- 
ing vines  and  flowers  that  formed  curtains  to  one  of 
the  room's  great  entrances.  Nor,  until  she  spoke 
and  came  whirling  into  the  room  to  drop  a  deep 
curtsey  before  him  did  he  see  the  girl  who  had  parted 

56 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT         57 

those  curtains — a  girl  of  such  flower-like  beauty  that 
she  might  have  been  sister  to  one  of  the  blossoms 
through  which  she  made  her  way.  She  looked  at 
him  with  eyes  that  sparkled  above  delicately  flushed 
cheeks.  And  Hugh  Benton  gazed  on  his  debutante 
daughter  with  a  joy  that  was  greater  by  far  than  he, 
had  ever  contemplated  any  of  his  wealth  of  pos- 
sessions. 

"Well,  dad!"  Elinor  Benton  exclaimed  breath- 
lessly. "How  do  I  look  for  my  first  formal  intro- 
duction into  society?" 

For  a  moment  the  father  did  not  speak  as  he 
looked  at  her.  He  was  trying  to  realize  that  this 
gloriously  beautiful  girl  of  eighteen,  bubbling  over 
with  the  exuberance  and  enthusiasm  of  youth  was 
his  daughter.  Her  hair  was  the  same  that  Mar- 
jorie's  had  been  when  he  had  married  her.  It  was 
a  mass  of  spun  gold  with  the  sun  glittering  upon  it. 
Features,  complexion,  figure — all  were  flawless,  and 
Hugh's  eyes  beamed  with  pride  as  he  answered 
tenderly,  truly;  "You're  as  beautiful  as  an  angel, 
dear." 

"Oh,  how  'dear  of  you  to  think  so,  dad!"  was  hen 
answer,  then  her  manner  changed  to  an  impishness 
as  she  added:  "It's  certainly  fine  to  have  such  a 
verdict  to  fall  back  on  first,  because  there's  going  to 
be  a  cataclysm  hereabouts  in  a  few  minutes  about 
my  angelic  appearance.  Mother's  going  to  have  a 
spasm  or  two  when  she  sees  my  dress."  Her  eyes 
were  full  of  mischief  as  she  placed  her  hand  on  her 
father's  arm  wheedlingly.  "But  you'll  stand  by  me, 
won't  you — there's  a  good  dad?" 

Hugh  was  surprised. 

"Why,   what's   wrong,   little   one?"    he    asked. 
"Looks  to  me  like  a  very  wonderful  little  gown," 
and  his  eyes,  trained  to  admire  feminine  adornment, 
took  in  with  admiration  the  details  of  his  daughter's 


58         THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

dainty  creation  of  cream  lace  with  its  garlands  of 
pink  rosebuds. 

"Oh,  there's  nothing  the  matter  with  the  dress, 
but  look  at  my  neck  and  arms,"  Elinor  hastened  to 
explain  as  she  held  out  the  discussed  members  for 
inspection.  "Don't  you  see  they're  actually  bare. 
Oh,  what  a  crime  1"  She  shook  her  finger  admonish- 
ingly  at  her  roundly-molded  young  arm.  Then  her 
mocking  turned  to  more  of  seriousness  as  she  went 
on:  "I  can  tell  you  things,  dad,  and  you'll  under- 
stand, so  you  might  just  as  well  be  told  before  the 
explosion  how  naughty-naughty  your  little  girl  is. 
The  facts  are  these:  When  we  went  to  Madame 
Felice's  for  my  last  fitting,  the  dress  was  just  as  you 
see  it  now,  but  mother  wouldn't  have  it  at  all.  She 
said  it  was  positvely  indecent  for  a  girl  of  eigh- 
teen to  expose  her  neck  and  arms,  and  she  ordered 
Madame  to  fill  in  the  neck  with  lace  and  add  sleeves 
to  reach  the  elbows.  Madame  declared  that  it  would 
ruin  the  entire  charm  of  the  gown,  but  mother  was 
as  firm  as  a  rock  and  she  couldn't  sway  her  an  inch. 
Well,  when  we  reached  home,  I  decided  to  take  the 
matter  into  my  own  hands,  so  I  called  up  Felice  and 
told  her  mother  had  changed  her  mind  and  she  was 
to  leave  the  gown  as  it  was — well — and  here  it  is!" 

Hugh's  half  humorous  expression  was  still  entirely 
admiring  as  he  looked  over  the  troublesome  garment. 
He  laughed  as  his  shoulders  shrugged  in  dismissal 
of  something  not  understood.  "Well,  child,"  he 
added,  as  he  took  her  hand  and  patted  it,  "as  far 
as  I'm  concerned,  I  am  still  of  the  same  opinion — 
both  you  and  you  gown  are  beautiful.  Your  neck 
and  arms  are  perfect,  and  I  don't  see  why  you 
should  have  to  hide  them — I  do  wish,"  and  there 
was  a  hint  of  impatience  in  his  voice,  "that  your 
mother  would  get  over  some  of  her  old-fashioned 
ideas." 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT         59 

"Not  any  more  than  I  do,  dad.  Why  for  years 
mother  has  been  writing  me  that  after  I  graduated 
she  and  I  would  be  real  chums,  and  now  that  I  am 
home  we  do  nothing  but  argue  all  day  long.  I  can't 
tell  you  how  many  times  I've  been  on  the  verge  of 
quarreling  with  her.  We  haven't  a  single  taste  frt 
common,  and  we  positively  clash  on  every  subject. 
Why,  I've  found  out  mother  is  simply  years  behind 
the  times  and  I — well,  you  know,  dad,  that  none  of 
the  girls  I've  been  to  school  with  are  that,  to  say 
the  least.  I  don't  think  mother  has  any  conception 
of  modern  girls — and  I  can't  help  it  if  I'm  one, 
can  I?" 

Hugh  shook  his  head.  "You  suit  me,  dear,"  he 
answered  consolingly.  "I  wouldn't  be  a  bit  sur- 
prised, either,  if  there  isn't  a  good  deal  in  your 
argument.  But  I  expect  you'll  have  to  do  what  I 
have  for  a  long  time,  and  make  the  best  of  it.  Your 
mother  is  too  set  in  her  opinions  to  attempt  to 
change  her  now — so  you'll  have  to  be  content  with* 
me  and  your  girl  friends  for  chums." 

Neither  of  them  saw  Marjorie  Benton  as  she 
came  slowly  down  the  wide  flower-banked  stairway 
and  drooped  across  the  hall  to  the  door  leading  to 
her  ballroom.  With  one  hand  holding  aside  the 
blossom  curtain,  she  stopped  and  gazed  wide-eyed  at 
what  she  saw,  as  though  she  could  hardly  believe 
what  the  glittering  chandelier  lights  revealed.  It 
was  a  picture  that  some  might  have  called  appealing 
and  beautiful — that  fairy-like  girl  of  eighteen  with 
her  neck  and  arms  of  marble  whiteness  and  smooth- 
ness nestling  in  her  handsome  father's  arms.  To 
Marjorie  Benton,  however,  the  beauty  of  the  picture 
was  lost.  It  was  something  else  she  saw  that  brought 
a  stern  light  into  eyes  faded  by  years  of  unrequiteb! 
yearning,  and  hardened  the  features  with  which  time 
had  not  dealt  so  lightly  as  it  had  with  her  husband^ 


60         THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

As  she  stood  there  for  the  moment  unseen,  ready 
for  her  daughter's  debut,  Marjorie  Benton  could  not 
by  any  stretch  of  the  imagination  have  been  placed 
in  the  picture  class  herself.  Sixteen  years  of  loneli- 
ness and  weary  waiting  had  wrought  havoc  with  her 
delicate  beauty,  and  where  now,  at  forty,  she  should 
have  been  at  the  full  blush  of  womanly  beauty,  she 
might  have  been  a  woman  of  sixty-five.  Golden  her 
hair  was  still — but  it  had  lost  its  sheen  and  taken  on 
instead  the  dull  luster  of  carelessly-kept  gold  and 
silver.  There  was  as  much  silver  as  gold  at  forty, 
too.  The  corners  of  her  mouth  drooped  pathetically 
— all  the  starlight  had  long  since  departed  from  her 
eyes  that  bore  an  expression  merely  of  weariness. 
Now,  too,  her  gown  of  amethyst  velvet  with  lace 
of  the  same  shade,  cut  in  severely  plain  lines,  would 
have  been  most  appropriate  for  a  woman  of  sixty- 
five. 

Hugh  and  Elinor  turned  with  a  start,  the  girl  to 
take  on  an  expression  of  defiance  as  the  mother's 
voice  came  low,  tense,  compelling,  from  the  door- 
way: "Elinor!  Your  dress!" 

"Well,"  was  the  pert  retort.  "Don't  you  like  it? 
Dad  does.  Don't  you,  dad?" 

But  Marjorie  was  not  to  be  placated. 

"I  suppose  I'm  not  to  believe  this  is  your  fault, 
my  daughter,"  added  the  mother  as  though  unaware 
of  the  interruption.  "I  take  it  that  Madame  Felice 
has  ignored  my  orders.  To-morrow  I  shall  'phone 
her  and  withdraw  my  patronage  from  her  establish- 
ment." 

Hugh  had  made  no  move  or  word  as  he  calmly 
looked  his  wife  over.  But  there  was  now  distaste 
in  the  closing  of  his  eyes  as  though  to  shut  out  the 
vision  in  the  doorway,  and  veil  the  disappointment 
he  feared  he  could  not  hide. 

Gaining  confidence  in  her  father's  presence,  Elinor 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT         61 

Benton  answered  her  mother  calmly,  but  with  little 
show  of  due  respect. 

"Now,  mother,"  she  implored,  "don't  get  so  ex- 
cited— this  isn't  a  tragedy,  and  don't  you  go  and 
'phone  Felice — because  it  wasn't  her  fault.  I  called 
her  up  and  told  her  to  leave  the  dress  as  it  was." 

"Of  course,  you're  aware  she  had  no  right  to  take 
orders  from  you  contrary  to  mine,"  Marjorie  per- 
sisted, with  lifted  eyebrows. 

"Oh,  I  just  told  her  the  orders  came  from  you — 
that  you  had  changed  your  mind." 

"You  dared!"  Marjorie  fairly  gasped.  "You  are 
admitting  you  lied  about  it.  I  wouldn't  have  believed 
my  daughter  capable  of  such  a  thing." 

Hugh  believed  the  time  had  come  for  his  promised 
interference. 

"Now,  now,"  he  soothed,  "I  fail  to  see  what 
all  this  fuss  is  about.  If  the  child  wants  to  display 
her  pretty  neck  and  arms,  I  can't  see  where  the  harm 
is — and  as  for  her  telephoning  to  Madame  Felice,  I 
can  readily  understand  her  doing  that  in  order  to 
evade  an  unnecessary  argument." 

Marjorie  Benton  looked  her  husband  over  as 
though  he  were  an  interfering  stranger. 

"There  have  been  many  things  which  does  not  sur- 
prise me  at  your  attitude,"  she  said  icily.  "How- 
ever, that  is  aside  from  the  point.  Come,  Elinor, 
we  will  go  upstairs  and  see  what  Marie  can  do  in 
arranging  some  sort  of  scarf  about  you." 

"We  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  I  won't!  I 
won't!"  Elinor  stamped  her  foot  angrily.  "Once 
and  for  all,  mother,  you'll  have  to  understand  that 
I'm  not  a  baby,  and  I  refuse  to  be  ordered  about 
in  that  manner.  I'll  wear  this  dress  as  it  is  to-night, 
or  I'll  lock  myself  in  my  room  and  you'll  be  obliged 
to  give  my  debut  party  without  me." 

Hugh  walked  over  to  his  wife  and  placed  his 


62 

hand  appealingly  on  her  lace-covered  arm.  "She 
means  it,  I'm  afraid,"  he  whispered.  "Hadn't  you 
better  permit  her  to  have  her  way  this  time?  Re- 
member, we  have  two  hundred  guests  coming." 

Just  for  a  moment  Marjorie  was  silent,  fighting 
what  she  knew  was  a  losing  battle.  How  bitter  it 
was  that  she  should  have  to  battle  with  these  two 
she  loved  so  dearly.  She  turned  away  her  face  that 
they  might  not  witness  her  struggle.  When  she 
spoke  it  was  in  her  usual  cool,  expressionless  voice 
— not  the  voice  of  the  Marjorie  Benton  of  Atwood, 
but  one  which  the  years  between  had  evolved. 

"Very  well,"  was  her  surrender,  but  neither 
Elinor  who  was  daintily  whirling  about  the  polished 
floor  in  exuberance  over  her  triumph  over  the 
mother  she  was  coming  to  think  an  oppressor,  nor 
Hugh  Benton  who  was  looking  at  his  watch  with  a 
slight  show  of  impatience,  saw  the  tears  in  the 
mother's  eyes  which  she  was  heroically  forcing  back. 

Elinor  stopped  suddenly  in  the  middle  of  a  pir- 
ouette to  cock  her  head  daintily  to  one  side  listening. 

"There  they  come,  Dad,"  she  cried  eagerly,  "Miss 
Elinor  Benton  is  about  to  be  introduced  to  society. 
I  wish  Howard  would  hurry.  He  promised  not  to 
be  late  for  anything." 

Hugh  Benton's  face  wore  an  annoyed  frown. 

"I  can't  understand  what's  keeping  him,"  he  com- 
plained. "He  should  have  been  here  at  five  o'clock." 

"Professor  Anderson  positively  promised  to  grant 
him  a  leave  of  absence  for  to-night,  didn't  he?" 
Elinor  asked.  "I  know  he  said  Howard  was  not 
deserving  of  any  favor,  but  I  will  certainly  be  happy 
when  my  big  brother  finishes  sowing  his  wild  oats. 

"Reckon  we  all  will  be,  little  girl,"  her  father 
laughed.  "But  we  must  have  a  little  patience. 
'Spose  he's  just  got  to  sew  a  little  crop  or  two." 

Marjorie's  level  eyes  looked  deeply  into  her  hus- 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT         63 

band's  as  she  asked  him  calmly,  meaningly:  "You 
mean  to  say  you  believe  it  absolutely  necessary  for  a 
boy  to  sow  'wild  oats'  as  you  call  them?  I  don't 
remember  ever  having  heard  of  your  doing  so." 

Hugh  shrugged. 

"Different  with  me,"  he  answered.  "I  didn't  go 
to  college —  I  didn't  mingle  with  a  set  of  boys  such 
as  Howard  is  thrown  in  contact  with,  and  I  hadn't 
a  father  who  could  afford  my  indulging  in  any  es- 
capades." 

"I'm  afraid  there  will  be  an  escapade  too  many 
one  of  these  days." 

"You're  such  a  confirmed  pessimist,  my  dear! 
The  boy's  all  right — leave  him  alone."  And  Hugh 
turned  aside  indicating  he  had  said  his  last  word. 
"He'll  turn  up  any  minute,  so  don't  think  any  more 
about  it." 

The  arrival  of  the  first  guests  ended  further 
discussion,  and  shortly  the  reception  hall,  drawing 
room  and  ballroom  were  thronged  with  the  merry 
assemblage. 

Promptly  at  9  130,  the  first  strains  of  music  floated 
out  from  a  balcony  screened  with  ferns  and  roses. 
The  dance  was  on. 

To  say  that  Elinor  was  having  a  glorious  time 
would  be  putting  it  mildly.  She  fairly  reveled  in 
it  all.  She  felt  that  she  had  attained  the  heights 
as  the  center  of  attraction,  with  a  bevy  of  young 
men  surrounding  her,  politely  fighting  for  the  priv- 
ilege of  a  dance. 

She  exulted  in  the  thought  that  this  was  only  the 
beginning  of  wonderful  days  and  nights  that  lay 
before  her.  Surely  she  possessed  everything  to  make 
her  happy — Youth,  beauty  and  riches.  Life  was  so 
wonderful  seen  through  the  rosiest  of  glasses. 

Eleven  o'clock!  Still  no  Howard.  Elinor  took 
a  few  moments  to  cast  some  resentful  thoughts 


64        THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

Howard-ward,  but  the  fun  was  too  fast  and  absorb- 
ing for  her  to  worry  more  than  that  few  moments 
over  her  brother's  dereliction. 

In  spite  of  her  husband's  admonishing,  Marjorie 
was  acquiring  a  worry  that  momentarily  gave  evi- 
dence of  becoming  panic-stricken  as  she  watched  the 
doors  with  eager  eyes  for  the  boy  who  did  not  come. 
She  felt  she  could  not  stand  it  any  longer.  She  must 
know — must  do  something.  With  a  hesitancy  that 
would  have  been  most  strange  in  the  Atwood  days, 
she  approached  Hugh  where  he  stood  talking  and 
laughing  in  a  care-free  manner  with  a  group  of  his 
guests.  He  excused  himself  to  speak  to  her  as  she 
laid  her  hand  on  his  arm  to  ask  for  a  word. 

"Hugh,  dear,"  she  begged,  "don't  you  think  we 
had  better  call  up  Professor  Anderson  and  find  out 
about  Howard — when  he  left,  and " 

"And  get  him  in  bad,  I  suppose,"  Hugh  blustered, 
but  there  was  worry  in  his  own  handsome  face  as  he 
once  more  glanced  at  his  watch  and  then  at  the  en- 
trances. "No — he's  probably  loitering,  and 

Griggs,  his  valet,  touched  him  on  the  arm.  He 
turned  to  hear  the  few  hurried  whispered  words. 

"Important  'phone  call,  my  dear,"  he  explained. 
"Make  my  excuses.  Back  in  a  minute " 

But  Marjorie's  sharp  ears  had  caught  the  word 
"sick."  Griggs  must  have  been  talking  about  How- 
ard. Oh,  where  was  he — her  boy!  She  could  not 
stand  it!  She  had  to  find  out. 

Careless  of  guests,  of  hospitality,  of  everything, 
she  hurried  after  her  husband,  but  already  he  was 
out  of  sight.  He  must  be  at  one  of  the  private  tele- 
phones, she  thought,  as  she  stumbled  blindly  along 
the  passage. 

But  her  way  would  have  been  still  more  blind  had 
she  seen  her  husband  with  her  son  at  that  moment. 

At  a  side  entrance  two  men  were  trying  to  per- 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT         65 

suade  Howard  to  leave  a  taxi.  In  a  maudlin  state 
of  intoxication,  he  refused  to  budge  an  inch,  mutter- 
ing to  himself  something  about  "a  date  with  a  lil' 
blonde." 

Ordering  the  passageway  clear,  Hugh  and  Griggs 
managed  between  them  to  convey  the  indignantly- 
protesting  Howard  upstairs  to  his  room. 

From  the  telephone,  the  boy's  mother  hastened 
to  his  room.  They  must  have  brought  him  home 
and  told  her  nothing  about  it.  Inside  she  heard 
voices.  She  knocked  softly,  and  was  about  to  enter, 
when  it  was  opened  and  Hugh  stood  before  her, 
quickly  closing  the  door  behind  him. 

"My  boy?"  she  asked  breathlessly.  "What  has 
happened?  Is  he  here?  Is  he  ill?" 

Hugh  was  uncomfortable — flustered.  "111? — No 
— yes — that  is,  he  is  ill — but  he  will  soon  be  all 
right." 

"I  will  go  to  him  at  once,"  and  Marjorie  started 
to  brush  by  Hugh. 

"You  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  he  answered 
sternly.  "You  will  return  to  your  guests,  and  act 
as  if  nothing  out  of  the  ordinary  had  happened.  I 
will  join  you  as  soon  as  possible — we  can't  both 
remain  away." 

"What  do  I  care  about  my  guests,  or  anyone,  if 
my  boy  is  ill.  My  place  is  at  his  side,  and  I'm 
going " 

From  behind  the  guarded  door,  came  a  volley  of 
oaths,  flung  at  the  faithful  Griggs,  followed  by  the 
incoherent  singing  of  a  popular  song. 

"Oh — Oh!"  Marjorie  shuddered,  and  covered  her 
burning  cheeks  with  her  hands.  "So  that  is  what 
his  illness — I  can't  believe  it — My  son  intoxicated — 
What  shall  we  do?  I  can't  bear  it." 

"There,  there,  Marjorie,"  Hugh  patted  her 
shoulder  consolingly.  "You  must  control  yourself, 


66         THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

and  not  create  a  scene.  I'm  sorry  if  any  of  this  has 
leaked  out  among  our  guests,  but  I'm  afraid  it  has. 
Now  we  must  save  the  situation  by  making  as  light 
of  it  as  possible.  It  really  isn't  anything  so  terrible. 
He  will  be  himself  in  the  morning,  and  then  I'll  lec- 
ture him  good.  It  seems  he  met  a  crowd  of  the 
boys  when  he  came  in  from  college  and  they  per- 
suaded him  to  go  to  dinner  with  them.  This  is  the 
result.  He  is  only  a  boy  after  all,  you  must  remem- 
ber, and  is  easily  led." 

"That's  just  it,"  Marjorie  answered  tragically. 
"He  is  only  a  boy,  and  can  be  easily  led — God  only 
knows  where  to." 

"Come,  now,  it  isn't  as  bad  as  that.  You're  mak- 
ing a  mountain  out  of  a  mole  hill  as  usual,  but  I 
must  go  back  to  him,"  as  disturbing  sounds  again 
issued  forth.  "Go  downstairs  and  brave  it  out. 
You  must — if  not  for  your  own  sake — for  the  sake 
of  the.  boy  himself." 

"For  his  sake  I'll  do  the  best  I  can."  She  dried 
her  eyes  and  turned  toward  the  stairs.  "But,  oh, 
Hugh,  how  can  you  view  this  so  lightly?  How 
you've  changed!" 

Marjorie  never  remembered  how  she  managed  to 
get  through  the  rest  of  the  evening,  going  about 
among  her  guests  with  a  smiling  face  and  an  aching 
heart.  When  Hugh  joined  her,  he  whispered  to  her 
that  Howard  was  sleeping  soundly,  and  would  prob- 
ably not  awaken  until  late  the  next  afternoon. 

Eventually  everything,  pleasant  or  unpleasant,  has 
its  ending,  and  at  3  A.M.  the  last  guest  had  departed, 
and  the  servants  were  extinguishing  the  lights. 

"Wasn't  it  splendid?"  Elinor  enthused.  "I  ha'd 
a  wonderful  time — I  didn't  have  nearly  enough 
dances  to  go  around.  All  the  boys  were  wild  about 
me  and  I  know  the  girls  all  envied  me.  Wasn't  I 
a  great  success?" 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT         67 

"You  certainly  were,  you  little  egotist,"  Hugh 
laughed. 

"What  ever  in  the  world  happened  to  Howard? 
I  heard  a  couple  of  the  boys  talking,  and  from  what 
I  gathered,  he  came  home  soused." 

"Elinor!"  Marjorie  was  shocked.  "Where  did 
you  ever  acquire  such  slang?  Surely  you  didn't  learn 
it  at  Miss  Grayson's?  I  can't  understand  half  of 
the  things  you  say,  but  I  do  know  that  they  sound 
shockingly  vulgar." 

"No,  mother  of  mine,"  Elinor  laughed  lightly. 
Nothing — not  even  her  mother's  disapproval  could 
worry  her  after  her  evening's  triumph.  "I  didn't 
learn  any  slang  from  Miss  Grayson,  but  you  must  re- 
member that  I  knew  lots  of  girls  there.  Most  of 
them  thought  it  modern  and  up  to  date  to  use  slang. 
Oh,  but  I  can't  explain  it  to  you,  you're  so  old- 
fashioned." 

As  Hugh  closed  his  eyes,  his  thoughts  were  of  his 
beautiful  daughter  and  the  brilliant  match  she  was 
sure  to  make.  But  Marjorie — poor  little  mother — 
all  night  she  lay  alone,  in  her  darkened  room,  her 
hands  pressed  to  her  throbbing  temples,  the  hot  tears 
scorching  her  cheeks.  Two  thoughts  ran  riot 
through  her  mind — one  was  that  her  son,  her  boy, 
was  lying  a  few  rooms  down  the  corridor  in  a 
drunken  stupor.  The  other  was,  that  Elinor,  her 
baby,  had  gone  to  bed  without  even  attempting  to 
kiss  her  good-night. 


CHAPTER  VI 

ELINOR  BENTON'S  social  success  was  all  that 
she  had  seen  envisioned  on  the  night  of  her 
debut.  In  the  months  that  followed  whirls  of 
teas,  luncheons,  dinners,  dances  all  but  dizzied  her 
sophisticated  little  head  as  she  dashed  madly  from 
one  to  the  other.  Vague  hints  in  the  society  columns 
linked  her  name  with  eligibles  who  were  the  despair 
of  the  mothers  of  other  girls  in  her  set.  But  blonde 
young  Elinor  took  it  as  her  meed  and  due,  and 
laughed  to  her  dimpled  face  in  the  mirror  when  she 
told  herself  how  far  wrong  they  were.  She  had 
no  intention  of  entering  the  ranks  of  young  matrons 
yet.  Life  was  too  full;  too  sweet.  Homage  was 
too  dear  to  her,  and  the  sway  she  held  in  one  man's 
heart,  her  father's,  too  complete  to  think  of  exchang- 
ing him  for  any  other  man;  her  own  wonderful  home 
for  that  of  another. 

True  to  his  word,  Hugh  Benton  had  made  him- 
self a  real  chum  to  her.  It  was  to  him  she  took  her 
petty  worries;  her  secrets.  Though  not  often  re- 
ferred to,  they  had  one  thing  in  common  not  usual 
between  father  and  daughter — their  disapproval  of 
the  mother  and  wife,  their  intolerance  of  what  they 
chose  to  call  her  old-fashioned  ways,  of  her  Puri- 
tanism, her  love  of  the  good  and  upstanding  ortho- 
doxy. 

Busy  at  his  desk  one  morning,  Hugh  frowned  at 
the  soft  opening  and  closing  of  his  door.  He  did 
not  like  even  his  confidential  employees  to  disturb 
him  when  he  was  answering  personal  letters.  But 

68 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT         69 

he  knew  it  was  no  employee  when  he  felt  two  soft 
arms  about  his  neck,  felt  the  softness  only  less  so  of 
rich  furs  against  his  cheeks  and  caught  the  subtle 
perfume  he  had  come  to  associate  with  his  daughter. 

"Guess  who!"  whispered  Elinor's  voice.  Then 
she  answered  her  own  question  with  a  kiss.  Aloud 
she  added  with  a  pretended  pout:  "Aren't  you  glad 
to  see  me — and  surprised " 

Hugh  laughed  as  he  pulled  her  to  his  knees. 

"Yes,  a  little — to  that  last  part,"  he  said,  hasten- 
ing to  add  gallantly:  "But  delighted,  nevertheless. 
What  brings  you  into  town  at  this  time?  You  must 
have  had  an  early  start." 

"Oh,  a  lot.  First,  there's  a  luncheon  engagement 
at  the  Biltmore  with  some  of  the  girls,  and  then 
we're  going  to  the  matinee.  But  those  are  small 
matters.  The  principal  thing  was  to  see  you  all 
alone — I  have  a  lot  to  talk  to  you  about  that  I  de- 
cided would  be  much  better  to  say  here  at  your  office 
instead  of  at  home,  so  I  came  in  an  hour  ahead  of 
time."  And  Elinor,  settling  herself  in  a  comfortable 
easy  chair,  sat  facing  her  father  with  an  air  of  being 
ready  to  spend  the  hour. 

Hugh  Benton,  his  keen  eyes  taking  in  every  detail 
of  her  appearance,  thought  he  had  never  seen  his 
daughter  more  beautiful.  Her  taffeta  gown  of  navy 
blue,  her  drooping  picture  hat  with  its  one  touch  of 
color,  her  graceful  squirrel  scarf,  all  went  so  natur- 
ally into  the  making  of  the  picture.  As  had  become 
usual  with  him  when  in  the  presence  of  this  daughter 
the  man  before  whom  kings  of  finance  bowed, 
glowed  inwardly  with  the  pride  of  possession. 

"Well,  baby  girl,  how  much?"  He  smiled  as  his 
hand  went  towards  his  check-book. 

"No,  Dad  dear,  it  isn't  money  this  time."  El- 
inor's face  dimpled  deliciously  as  she  shook  her  head, 
"strange  as  it  may  seem  to  you,"  she  added.  Then 


70         THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

seriousness  chased  the  dimples  away.  "No,  dear, 
it's  something  uncomfortably  serious.  It's — it's 
about  mother!" 

"Your  mother!"  Hugh's  face,  too,  became  serious. 
"Not  ill,  I  hope." 

"No,  she  is  perfectly  well,"  the  girl  answered,  as 
a  dull  red  crept  into  her  cheeks.  "Oh,  dad,  I'm  so 
ashamed  of  myself  to  sneak  to  you  in  this  way,  but 
dear,  you  might  as  well  know  the  truth.  It  is  utterly 
impossible  for  me  to  get  along  with  mother. 
There!  It's  out!  Do  you  think  I'm  so  dreadful?" 
anxiously. 

Hugh  was  solemn  as  he  listened.  Then  he 
nodded. 

"I  believe  I  do  know  your  difficulty,  dear,"  he 
answered,  as  if  uncertain  just  what  to  say  in  this 
moment  he  had  been  in  a  way  prepared  for.  "And," 
he  added,  "of  course,  I  don't  think  you're  dread- 
ful—" 

Without  waiting  for  him  to  conclude,  Elinor  burst 
out  passionately: 

"Oh,  Dad,  surely  you  can  see  I  simply  cannot  be 
the  old-fashioned,  namby-pamby  bread-and-butter 
school-girl  that  mother  wishes  me  to  be.  Why, 
everything  I  do  meets  with  her  disapproval — we 
can't  agree  in  a  single  instance.  Really,  Dad,  it  is 
unbearable,  and  I'm  just  sick  about  it!" 

Tears  which  had  been  valiantly  withheld  began  to 
trickle  down  her  cheeks.  From  his  pocket  Hugh 
took  his  handkerchief  and  wiped  them  tenderly  away. 
"There,  dear,  you  mustn't  cry  and  spoil  your  pretty 
eyes,"  he  soothed.  "Remember  your  luncheon  and 
matinee — I'm  sure  your  misunderstanding  with  your 
mother  can  easily  be  straightened  out.  Calm  down 
and  tell  me  about  it.  What  do  you  do  that  she  ob- 
jects to?" 

"Oh,  just  everything."     Elinor's  sigh  was  one  of 


resignation  as  she  completed  restoring,  with  a  small 
'dab  of  lace  and  linen,  the  ravages  to  her  complexion 
her  father  had  begun.  "For  instance,"  she  went  on, 
"mother  looks  upon  my  playing  bridge  for  money 
as  a  dreadful  calamity.  My  drinking  a  cocktail  is 
an  utter  degradation,  and  if  I  attempt  to  light  a 
cigarette  in  her  presence,  she  nearly  collapses." 

"Do  all  the  other  girls  in  your  set  do  these 
things?"  Hugh  asked.  His  brows  met  in  a  slight 
frown. 

"Why,  of  course,  Dad.  All  modern  girls  believe 
in  having  a  good  time.  We  never  go  to  extremes 
in  anything;  but  if  you  want  to  be  thoroughly  up 
to  date  you  simply  can't  be  a  prude." 

"I  suppose  you're  right,"  he  admitted  slowly, 
"but  just  the  same,  when  I  was  a  young  man " 

"When  you  were  a  young  man!"  Elinor  inter- 
rupted indignantly.  "You're  as  young  as  a  boy  now, 
and  you're  the  handsomest  man  in  New  York,  Dad." 

Her  father,  flushed,  pleased  as  he  always  was,  at 
this  compliment.  "Little  flatterer,"  he  joked,  pinch- 
ing her  cheeks.  "You  can't  lead  me  astray  by  pay- 
ing me  compliments.  The  things  that  you  now  call 
modern  and  up  to  date,  in  my  day,  would  have  been 
considered — fast." 

"No  doubt  they  would  have  been  too — just  that," 
was  the  girl's  composed  retort,  "but  you  know  that 
we're  living  in  a  progressive  world,  and  no  one 
needs  to  tell  you  how  rapidly  things  have  changed 
since  your  days." 

"Guess  you're  right,  baby,"  Hugh  replied.  "I 
must  admit  that  my  own  ideas  of  life  have  greatly 
changed  since  we  came  to  New  York  sixteen  years 
ago.  I  know  one  thing — all  your  friends  come  from 
the  best  of  families,  so  if  you  do  as  they  do,  I  can't 
see  where  objection  should  arise." 

"Bravo,  Dad!"  Elinor  clapped  her  hands  in  glee. 


72         THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

"I  knew  you  would  see  things  in  the  right  light. 
You're  so  broad-minded  about  everything — and 
you'll  speak  to  mother?" 

"Yes,  dear,  I'll  speak  to  your  mother  to-night, 

and  try  to  reason  with  her  a  little " 

"Just  a  minute,  Dad.  I  almost  forgot  the  most 
important  thing  that  I  want  you  to  try  to  make 
mother  be  reasonable  about,  and  that  is — Geral- 
dine." 

"Geraldine?" 

"Yes,  Geraldine  DeLacy.  She's  a  'distant  relative 
of  the  Thurstons,  and  she  is  visiting  them  at  present. 
We  girls  are  all  crazy  about  her — she's  an  adorable 
young  widow,  just  twenty-six,  and  she  makes  the 
most  wonderful  chaperone  imaginable.  That's  the 
very  thing  mother  so  strenuously  objects  to." 

"I  can't  see  why,"  Hugh  seemed  surprised.  "The 
Thurstons  are  most  desirable  and  surely,  any  rela- 
tive of  theirs  must  be  an  aristocrat." 

Elinor  threw  out  her  hands  in  a  gesture  of  de- 
spair. 

"Haven't  I  wasted  hours  and  hours  trying  to  make 
mother  realize  that  very  thing,"  she  exclaimed,  "and 
with  no  success  whatever !  For  some  unaccountable 
reason,  she  has  taken  an  aversion  to  Geraldine.  She 
objects  to  her  age — says  she's  too  young  to  be  a 
chaperone — she  calls  her  frivolous  for  permitting 
the  girls  to  address  her  by  her  Christian  name  and 
all  in  all  there  isn't  a  thing  the  poor  woman  does 
that  meets  with  mother's  approval." 

Hugh  considered  deeply.  "I  fail  to  see  anything 
objectionable  in  what  you  have  told  me,"  he  said 
•finally.  "The  only  thing  I  can  do  is  to  judge  for 
myself  when  I  have  the  pleasure  of  meeting  your 
perfect  chaperone.  In  the  meantime,  precious,  don't 
you  worry — your  old  Dad  will  always  stand  by  you. 
Run  along  now,  and  have  a  good  time." 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT         73 

He  [extracted  a  bill  from  his  wallet,  and  reach- 
ing for  Elinor's  mesh  bag  tucked  it  in. 

"Thank  you  so  much,  Dad  dear,  you're  so  won- 
derful to  me."  Elinor  looked  at  him  with  grateful 
affectionate  eyes.  "The  Thurstons  are  giving  a 
dance  for  Nell  on  the  I7th — mother  received  the 
invitation  for  it  this  morning — she  says  she  is  going 
to  decline,  but  you  must  arrange  to  take  me,  and 
then  you'll  meet  Geraldine.  I  know  you'll  agree 
with  me  and  admit  that  she  is  adorable." 

"Splendid — you  may  count  upon  me  to  act  as  your 
gallant  escort  to  the  Thurston  dance,"  and  Hugh 
kissed  his  daughter  affectionately,  as  they  walked 
to  the  door. 

Late  as  usual,  Elinor  reached  the  Biltmore  to 
find  Nell  Thurston,  Rosebud  Greely,  and  Josephine 
Wyeth,  three  of  the  season's  debutantes,  patiently 
awaiting  her.  They  were  in  especially  fine  humor 
and  willing  even  to  forgive  Elinor  since  their  beloved 
Mrs.  DeLacy  was  chaperone.  Pretty,  happy,  light- 
hearted  girls  were  these  friends  of  Elinor  Benton's, 
with  but  three  aims  in  life — a  good  time,  endeavor- 
ing to  spend  some  of  their  parents'  too  great  wealth 
and  to  make  at  last  "a  brilliant  batch." 

Mrs.  DeLacy,  the  youthful  widow,  was  remark- 
able principally  because  of  her  knack  of  mentioning 
her  late  dear  husband  at  the  right  times,  deftly  to 
manage  to  secure  sympathy  and  admiration.  It  had 
been  remarked,  too,  that  this  was  most  generously 
forthcoming  from  men. 

She  was  prepossessing — there  was  no  denying  that 
• — and  with  a  strange  fascination  that  made  her 
singularly  attractive. 

The  luncheon  was  a  jolly  little  affair,  the  girls 
were  permitted  to  indulge  in  as  many  cigarettes  as 
they  wished,  and  relate  stories  worthy  of  a  demi- 
monde. 


74         THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

It  was  no  wonder  her  charges  considered  Mrs. 
DeLacy  a  wonderful  chaperone.  She  placed  no  re- 
straint whatsoever  upon  any  of  their  actions,  coin- 
cided with  all  their  plans  and  arrangements,  and 
managed  to  make  herself  thoroughly  agreeable  at 
all  times.  The  mere  fact  that  she  was  Mrs.  DeLacy 
sufficed  to  make  her  a  perfectly  proper  and  legitimate 
chaperone  in  the  eyes  of  the  world. 

The  curtain  was  rising  as  they  were  ushered  to 
a  stage-box.  The  play,  a  modern  society  drama, 
in  its  eighth  week,  playing  to  capacity  at  every  per- 
formance, was  featuring  the  popular  matinee  idol, 
Templeton  Druid,  in  the  stellar  role. 

During  the  intermission,  between  the  first  and 
second  acts,  as  the  girls  discussed  the  play  and  the 
star  with  animated  enthusiasm,  Mrs.  DeLacy  ex- 
ploded a  bombshell  in  their  midst  when  she  calmly 
remarked: 

"You  children  seem  so  fascinated  by  Mr.  Druid 
— would  you  like  to  meet  him?" 

"Do  you  know  him,  Geraldine?"  The  question 
was  chorused  eagerly. 

"I  have  known  him  all  my  life,"  was  the  reply. 
"We  were  neighbors  in  Richmond,  raised  together 
as  children,  attended  the  same  high-school,  and  grad- 
uated from  the  same  class." 

"Well,  why  in  the  world  didn't  you  say  so  be- 
fore?" Rosebud  Greely  pouted  as  though  she  had 
been  personally  injured,  as  she  pulled  her  skirts 
higher  for  more  comfort  for  her  crossed  legs  with 
their  bare  knees  visible  above  her  rolled-down  silk 
stockings.  "Pigging  it,  I'd  call  it — wanted  him  all 
to  yourself,  I  suppose.  And  you  knew  what  play 
we  were  coming  to  see,  and  who  was  starring  in  it?" 

Geraldine  DeLacy  smiled  tolerantly. 

"Don't  fly  off  so  quickly,  dear,"  she  advised.     "I 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT         75 

didn't  know  myself  till  just  now,  for  how  could  I 
imagine  that  Thomas  Temple,  a  boy  from  my  home 
town,  whom  I  haven't  seen  in  years,  was  this 
Templeton  Druid,  popular  Broadway  star.  I  knew 
he  always  had  a  soaring  ambition  to  become  an  actor, 
but  I  could  never  dream  of  his  going  this  far  in  so 
short  a  time." 

"Isn't  it  wonderfully  interesting  and  romantic?" 
Nell  Thurston,  her  eyes  aglow  with  excitement, 
wanted  to  know  more. 

"You  asked  about  our  caring  to  meet  him.  Can 
you  manage  it,  Geraldine?"  Elinor  Benton  was  all 
eagerness. 

"Easily  enough,"  Geraldine  shrugged  her  hand- 
some shoulders  as  she  replied.  "I'll  send  back  a 
note  asking  him  to  join  us  at  the  Waldorf  for  tea 
after  the  matinee.  He'll  be  there — "  There  was 
a  worldly  meaning  in  her  last  words  that  even  her 
sophisticated  charges  failed  to  get. 

"How  positively  thrilling!"  Rosebud  giggled. 
"Do  you  know  I've  never  talked  to  a  real  actor  in 
my  life?" 

With  the  prospect  of  meeting  the  star,  interest  in 
the  play  increased  tenfold.  Romantic  revelries  ran 
riot  through  four  foolish  little  heads.  Geraldine  sat 
back  and  smiled  cynically.  "Young  idiots,"  she 
thought  contemptuously,  as  her  roving  glance  settled 
upon  Elinor  Benton.  With  tightly  compressed  lips 
and  eyes  aflame  with  envy,  she  stared  at  the  girl. 
Only  for  a  fleeting  instance,  however,  did  she  permit 
her  expression  to  betray  her  chaotic  emotion.  She 
leaned  forward  in  her  chair  apparently  absorbed  in 
the  people  on  the  stage. 

As  she  had  expected,  Templeton  Druid's  reply  to 
her  invitation  was  a  delightfully  affable  little  billet 
expressing  his  pleasure  at  the  hope  of  seeing  Mrs. 


76         THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

DeLacy  and  meeting  her  friends.  He  promised  to 
arrive  at  the  Waldorf  as  expeditiously  as  possible 
after  the  matinee. 

After  their  drive  to  the  Waldorf  in  the  Thurston 
limousine,  it  was  Geraldine  who  maneuvered  to 
walk  behind  with  Elinor,  as  they  strolled  leisurely 
through  the  hotel  lobby.  Young  as  she  was,  Elinor 
Benton  could  not  help  but  notice  that  something  was 
disturbing  her  chaperone  as  Mrs.  DeLacy  glanced 
nervously  from  side  to  side. 

"What  is  it,  Geraldine?"  she  asked  in  concern. 
"Is  anything  wrong?" 

Mrs.  DeLacy  shook  her  head  half-heartedly,  then 
her  fine  eyes  came  to  rest  appealingly  on  Elinor's. 

"No — no,"  she  began,  then  hurried  on  with 
nervous  suddenness.  "No — er — well,  yes,  there  is, 
Elinor  dearest.  I  hate  so  to  tell  you,  but — but — 
well,"  she  lowered  her  voice  to  a  whisper:  "I'm 
afraid,  dear,  you'll  have  to  come  to  my  rescue.  Here 
I  have  invited  you  all  to  tea  and  asked  Mr.  Druid 
to  join  us,  and  I  have  just  discovered  that  I  lack  the 
necessary  funds " 

"Not  another  word,  please,  Geraldine,"  Elinor 
interrupted  hastily.  "It's  a  pleasure  to  be  of  any 
service  to  you,  dear."  And  opening  her  bag,  she 
extracted  the  fifty-dollar  bill  her  father  had  placed 
there,  and  pressed  it  into  Geraldine's  hands. 

"Thank  you  so  much,"  beamed  the  chaperone, 
glancing  hurriedly  at  the  bill  before  she  thrust  it  into 
her  purse.  "I'll  return  it  at  the  earliest  oppor- 
tunity." 

If  anyone  had  dared  assert  that  Geraldine  De- 
Lacy was  a  social  parasite,  Elinor  would  have  de- 
fended her  with  emphatic  loyalty. 

Nevertheless,  that  was  an  appellation  Mrs.  De- 
Lacy justly  deserved.  It  was  no  great  secret  how 
she  subsisted  luxuriously  upon  the  generosity  of 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT         77 

friends  and  acquaintances.  Habitual  borrowing  had 
become  her  source  of  income,  and  she  was  well 
known  to  mention  her  inadequate  memory  as  extenu- 
ation for  failing  to  repay  her  obligations. 

At  their  table  for  six  in  one  of  the  tea  rooms,  it 
was  again  Geraldine  who  adroitly  managed  to  leave 
the  vacant  seat  for  the  actor  between  Elinor  and  her- 
self. They  had  barely  fluttered  into  place  before 
Templeton  Druid  entered  pompously  as  was  his 
wont.  His  appearance  caused  the  mild  sensation 
he  always  hoped  for.  Heads  turned  in  his  direction; 
there  were  whispered  comments.  To  the  unbiased 
onlooker,  it  was  clear  as  light  the  actor  was  not 
displeased. 

"This  is  indeed  an  unexpected  pleasure,"  he  told 
Geraldine  as  he  reached  her  table  and  bowed  low 
over  her  hand.  "I  would  have  known  you  anywhere. 
If  there  is  a  change  it  is  that  you  are  more  beautiful 
than  ever,  if  that  is  possible." 

"And  you,  I  find,  still  retain  your  aptitude  for 
pretty  speeches,"  Geraldine  answered  laughingly  but 
not  ill  pleased  herself.  "Let  me  present  you  to  my 
friends." 

He  acknowledged  each  introduction  with  studied 
gallantry,  retaining  possession  of  each  little  hand  a 
fraction  of  a  second  longer  than  necessa^. 

With  the  tea,  toasted  muffins,  and  marmalade  Mr. 
Druid  talked,  but  regardless  of  what  angle  his  con- 
versation started  from,  it  invariably  reverted  to  the 
one  subject  uppermost  in  his  consciousness — Temple- 
ton  Druid !  He  spoke  of  his  managers,  his  contracts, 
his  popularity,  of  the  requests  he  received  daily  for 
autographed  photos,  of  success,  fame,  showered 
upon  him. 

To  his  young  auditors,  so  sophisticated  in  many 
ways,  so  little  in  others,  all  this  was  something  to 
be  eagerly  devoured,  to  be  remembered.  To  them 


78         THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

he  was  a  figure  of  fame,  of  romanticism.  But  as  she 
listened,  Geraldine  DeLacy  turned  her  head  that 
they  might  not  see  the  smile  of  cynicism  she  could 
not  suppress.  For  to  her,  as  he  would  so  obviously 
have  been  to  any  worldly  person,  Templeton  Druid 
bore  no  romantic  glamour.  He  stood  out  through 
his  own  words  for  what  he  was — a  figure  of  unvar- 
nished petty  egotism.  It  was  during  a  lull  in  his  lec- 
ture on  the  subject  of  Templeton  Druid  that  the 
owner  of  the  name  bent  over  Elinor  Benton  as  he 
replenished  her  plate  with  marmalade. 

"Haven't  I  met  you  before,  Miss  Benton?"  he 
asked,  his  deep  romantic  eyes  apparently  filled  with 
perplexity.  "Your  name  is  so  familiar " 

Before  Elinor  could  voice  a  regretful  negative, 
Geraldine  DeLacy  interposed  hurriedly. 

"Aren't  you  thinking  of  her  father,  possibly?"  she 
inquired.  "Miss  Benton  is  the  daughter  of  Hugh 
Benton,  the  Wall  Street  magnate,  you  know,  whose 
successes  have  earned  him  many  a  column  in  your 
favorite  literature — the  newspapers." 

"Indeed!"  Templeton's  tone  assumed  a  note  of 
deference.  "Of  course,  I  know  of  your  father,  Miss 
Benton.  He  is  a  recognized  celebrity  in  the  financial 
world." 

Across  the  room,  three  women  seated  at  a  table, 
were  bowing  and  endeavoring  to  attract  the  atten- 
tion of  Geraldine's  party.  Nell  Thurston  was  the 
first  to  see  them. 

"Do  any  of  you  know  any  of  them?"  she  asked. 
"They  seem  to  know  someone  at  this  table." 

"Why  yes,  I  do,"  Josephine  Wyeth  answered 
quickly.  "They  are  friends  of  mine  from  Baltimore. 
I  know  you  will  pardon  me  if  I  go  over  to  their  table 
for  a  few  moments.  Come  with  me,  Rosebud,  won't 
you?  Don't  you  remember  meeting  Mrs.  Powell, 
the  time  you  motored  to  Baltimore  with  us?" 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT         79 

"I'll  say  I  do,"  was  Rosebud's  slangy  reply.  Slang 
for  this  one  debutante  was  a  favorite  medium.  "I'm 
keen  for  saying  'hello'  to  her.  She  sure  is  a  bully 
little  sport." 

Geraldine  moved  over  next  to  Nell  Thurston. 

"You  two  keep  on  talking  and  forbear  with  us  for 
a  few  moments,"  she  advised  Elinor  and  Templeton. 
"I  am  anxious  to  discuss  my  idea  for  a  new  evening 
frock  with  Nell." 

As  though  the  change  had  been  prearranged  be- 
tween them,  Templeton  Druid  threw  a  grateful 
glance  at  his  old-time  friend.  She  must  have  her 
own  reasons  for  giving  him  this  opportunity  with  the 
wealthy  debutante,  and  he  would  make  the  most  of 
it.  He  threw  all  the  magnetism  he  possessed  into 
his  voice  as  he  said: 

"This  is  more  than  I  had  hoped  for,  Miss  Benton 
— one  little  word  with  you.  The  gods  must  have 
heard  my  prayer.  From  the  minute  I  first  saw  you, 
there  was  something  I  knew  I  must  ask  you.  May 
I  not  hope  to  see  you  again?" 

Elinor  flushed,  as  she  looked  shyly  up  from  the 
diagrams  she  was  drawing  on  the  table  cloth  with 
her  fork.  It  was  not  the  girl  the  others  knew  who 
only  stammered,  for  once  at  a  loss:  "Why,  I — I — 
oh  I  should  so  like  to  have  you  call,  Mr.  Druid,  but 
I  am  just  out,  and  my  mother  is — is — rather " 

"Please — "  Templeton  Druid  looked  just  prop- 
erly pained,  and  oh,  such  an  unjustly  misunderstood 
man, — "I  understand  perfectly.  Your  mother 
naturally  would  be  particular  with  so  charming  a 
daughter,  and  a  man  in  my  profession " 

"No,  no,  it  isn't  that,"  Elinor  hastened  to  inter- 
rupt. She  felt  apologetic,  too.  "My  mother's  ideas 
are  rather  peculiar.  She's  a  dear,  but  she  is  old- 
fashioned  and " 

"I  wonder,"  he  said  slowly,  placing  his  hand  over 


8o 

hers  as  if  quite  by  accident  and  allowing  it  to  remain 
there,  "if  we  couldn't  manage  to  meet  in  spite  of — 
mother's  precaution.  I  have  a  perfect  little  speed 
marvel  of  a  roadster.  Can't  I  take  you  for  a 
drive? — Say  Tuesday  afternoon?" 

Elinor's  heart  thumped  madly,  and  struggle  as  she 
would,  she  could  not  control  the  trembling  of  her 
hands  beneath  his.  But  she  replied  with  seeming 
carelessness,  after  what  might  have  been  due  de- 
liberation. "Well — er — possibly.  I  know  I  should 
enjoy  it  immensely — still " 

Templeton  Druid  half  suppressed  a  sigh  as  of 
deep  joy  and  delight. 

"Then  that's  settled,"  he  breathed,  "and  I'll  be 
at  the  57th  Street  entrance  to  the  park  at  two 
o'clock — Ah,  kind — so  kind!" 

And  his  eyes,  as  Geraldine  DeLacy  caught  a  quick 
glimpse  of  them  from  across  the  table  and  smiled, 
said  unutterable  things  as  he  gazed  into  the  misty 
blue  orbs  of  Elinor  Benton. 


CHAPTER  VII 

ELINOR  BENTON'S  worldly  intuition  that  a 
crisis  was  imminent  in  her  home,  an  inevitable 
clash  with  her  mother  in  which  one  or  the  other 
would  have  to  admit  herself  vanquished  was  not 
without  foundation.  Neither  the  girl  nor  her  father 
were  able  to  comprehend  the  mother's  attitude  nor 
why  she  should  herself  be,  or  wish  them  to  be  so 
different  from  all  those  with  whom  they  were  in 
these  days  thrown  in  contact.  Sixteen  years  of  sup- 
pressing her  emotions,  of  unsatisfied  longings  had 
made  her  incapable  of  showing  her  inner  feelings, 
the  tenderness  that  so  passionately  wished  only  for 
the  good  of  those  dear  to  her.  From  some  remote 
ancestor  she  must  have  inherited  the  coldness  and 
intolerance  she  showed  outwardly,  and  which  was  to 
her  husband  and  children  their  only  criterion.  Cold 
and  hard  outwardly,  intolerant  to  the  extreme  of 
anything  that  did  not  agree  with  her  puritanical  con- 
victions which  the  years  of  self-communing  had  made 
all  but  fanatical,  Marjorie  Benton  did  not,  could  not 
open  her  heart  and  plead  with  those  she  loved  to 
understand  her,  to  meet  her  half-way  in  her  efforts 
to  make  them  see  all  she  wished  was  to  stand  for 
what  was  good,  pure  and  true.  A  faulty  reasoning, 
aided  by  that  inherited  stubbornness,  had  persuaded 
her  her  best  source  was  to  assert  indomitable  au- 
thority as  wife  and  mother — to  force  her  own  to 
bend  to  her  will,  with  no  idea  of  the  give  and  take 
that  makes  worlds  go  around  smoothly.  She  had 
forgot  to  reason,  too,  that  her  children  were  her 

81 


82          THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

own,  and  had  without  doubt  inherited  some  of  that 
very  stubbornness  which  so  momentarily  threatened 
the  Benton  ship  with  going  on  the  rocks. 

Elinor  had  felt — seen — the  clash  coming.  But  she 
had  not  expected  it  quite  so  soon  after  her  confi- 
dential chat  with  her  father. 

The  lateness  of  the  hour — (it  was  past  seven) 
when  she  arrived  home  from  her  afternoon  at  the 
matinee  was  the  signal — the  beginning  of  it  all.  Her 
father  and  mother  had  finished  their  dinner  and  were 
in  the  library,  the  father  absorbed  in  his  evening 
paper,  but  the  mother  sat  with  her  hands  idly  clasped 
in  her  lap,  her  eyes  never  wandering  from  the  clock 
in  the  corner  until  her  daughter  rushed  in  apologet- 
ically. 

"Sorry  to  be  so  late,"  she  deplored.  "I  hope  you 
haven't  waited  dinner  for  me." 

"Your  father  and  I  have  had  our  dinner."  Her 
mother  seemed  not  to  notice  the  breathless  apology. 
"I  have  ordered  yours  kept  warm  for  you." 

"Thanks,  mother,  you  are  very  kind,  but  I  can't 
eat  a  mouthful.  We  had  a  rather  sumptuous 
luncheon,  and  it  was  6:30  when  we  finished  having 
tea  at  the  Waldorf." 

Marjorie  walked  across  the  room  and  pressed 
the  bell.  When  the  butler  entered  she  ordered  him 
to  inform  the  cook  that  "Miss  Elinor  had  already 
'dined."  Then  she  turned  and  faced  her  daughter. 

"It  strikes  me,  Elinor,"  she  said  slowly,  "that  for 
a  young  girl  so  recently  introduced  into  society,  you 
are  assuming  unwarranted  privileges." 

Though  he  at  first  attempted  to  assume  a  neutral 
attitude  and  kept  his  eyes  on  his  paper,  Hugh  Benton 
stirred  uneasily,  his  very  attitude  showing  that  the 
scene  he  felt  sure  would  ensue  was  most  distasteful 
to  him.  He  set  his  jaws  at  a  belligerent  angle. 
Well,  if  it  must  come 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT         83 

Elinor  Benton  flushed  dully  at  her  mother's  words. 
Her  glance  sought  her  father,  and  what  she  saw 
there  apparently  gave  her  courage.  With  a  calm- 
ness and  coldness  matching  Marjorie's  own,  and 
with  her  dainty  chin  tipped  at  a  dangerously  bellig- 
erent angle  that  showed  her  as  much  like  one  parent 
as  the  other,  she  faced  her  mother,  and,  as  though 
addressing  an  insolent  stranger,  her  answer  came 
icily. 

"I  fail  to  understand  you,  mother,"  was  what  she 
said.  "As  usual  you  are  speaking  enigmatically." 

"In  that  case  I  shall  lose  no  time  in  making  myself 
clear,"  the  mother  began,  but  her  words  were  cut 
short. 

"I  say,"  Hugh  interrupted  hurriedly  as  he 
dropped  his  paper,  and  glanced  up  with  a  smile  as 
though  some  remarkable  idea  had  come  to  him. 
"How  about  you  two  dressing  as  quickly  as  you  can 
and  driving  Into  town  with  me.  We  can  make  one 
of  the  Roof  shows!  Eh,  what?" 

Elinor  clapped  her  hands  delightedly. 

"Fine,  Dad!"  was  her  enthusiastic  acceptance. 
"It  won't  take  me  five  minutes  to  dress.  I'm  dying 
to  attend  a  Roof  revue — I  hope  you  can  get  tickets." 

"In  case  I  can't,  we  will  go  over  to  'The  Palais 
Royal,'  "  Hugh  answered,  with  a  man's  natural  ea- 
gerness to  avert  the  inevitable  argument  between 
Marjorie  and  Elinor. 

"One  moment,  please,"  Marjorie  cold,  wide-eye'd, 
forbidding,  addressed  her  husband.  "Your  attempt 
to  silence  me,  Hugh,  is  obvious.  Besides,  you  know 
perfectly  well  I  never  attend  a  Roof  show,  and  I 
surely  will  not  permit  my  daughter  to  do  so." 

With  a  pertness  she  had  not  before  considereb! 
when  addressing  her  mother,  the  daughter  exclaimed 
with  a  toss  of  her  head: 

"Well  I  can't  see  why  you  should  object  if  Dad 


84         THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

proposes  taking  us!"  Angry  tears  rushe'd  to  her 
eyes. 

"I  consider  it  unnecessary  to  state  my  reasons.  It 
should  be  sufficient  that  I  do  object — most  strenu- 
ously. There  are  a  great  many  things  that  I  wish 
to  say  to  you,  Elinor.  This  is  probably  art  oppor- 
tune time.  Perhaps  it  would  be  better  for  you  to 
come  with  me  to  my  room."  Marjorie  rose  and 
started  toward  the  door. 

All  signs  of  neutrality  vanishing  an'd  with  a  stern- 
ness and  a  fire  in  his  eyes  his  wife  did  not  recognize, 
Hugh  Benton  threw  down  his  paper  and  rose,  too. 
He  made  his  way  to  his  daughter's  side. 

"Elinor!"  he  said  gently  as  he  placed  his  arm 
about  her.  "Please  go  to  your  own  room  for  awhile. 
I  wish  to  speak  with  your  mother,  alone." 

"You  just  heard  me  request  Elinor  to  come  to 
my  room?"  Marjorie  was  astounded.  "Surely 
you—" 

"Elinor,  'do  as  I  say,"  Hugh  repeated.  His  wife 
he  ignored. 

Marjorie's  glance  at  his  white  face  and  tightly 
compressed  lips  showed  her  a  new  Hugh.  With  an 
indifferent  shrug  of  her  shoulders  she  sat  'down  to 
wait. 

Frightened  by  what  was  occurring,  Elinor's  arms 
went  up  to  close  about  her  father's  neck.  Marjorie 
winced  unconsciously  as  she  saw  the  gesture.  It 
proclaimed  so  plainly  who  her  daughter  believed 
to  be  her  best  friend — which  one  she  loved. 

"I'm  sorry,  Dad,"  the  girl  stammered  with  a  sob 
as  she  slowly  left  them. 

Marjorie  Benton's  eyebrows  went  up  in  disdain 
as  the  door  closed  behind  Elinor  and  her  husband 
came  over  to  stand  before  her  wordless,  hands  in 
pockets. 

"I  suppose,"  she  commented,  bitterly,  "you  are 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT         85 

greatly  elated  at  having  humiliated  me  before 
Elinor." 

"You  know  that  is  not  true!"  Hugh's  voice  was 
tense  as  he  gave  his  wife  the  lie  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life.  He  was  thoroughly  exasperated,  out  of 
patience  with  her  and  what  he  believed  were  her 
ideals.  "I  am  only  sure  of  one  thing.  You  have 
got  into  the  way  of  making  a  tragedy  out  of  every 
little  thing  that  does  not  suit  you,  and  this  is  just 
another  example.  But  if  you  are  looking  for 
tragedy,  something  real  to  dramatize  over,"  and  his 
lips  tightened  into  a  grim  line  as  he  accentuated  every 
word,  "I  just  want  to  tell  you  that  this  time  you  may 
succeed  beyond  your  wildest  expectations!" 

"Why,  Hugh — what  do  you  mean — I — "  Mar- 
jorie's  voice  was  tremulous  as  she  sought  to  under- 
stand what  had  brought  this  storm  of  her  husband's 
about  her  ears. 

"I  think  this  time  you'll  have  no  cause  to  complain 
about  not  understanding  what  I  mean.  And  for 
once,  I  expect  you  to  listen  to  every  word  I  say!" 

There  was  no  doubting  the  earnestness  of  Hugh 
Benton's  tone,  or  that  he  was  wrought  up  to  a  pitch 
rarely  known  to  his  easy-going  nature.  For  once, 
the  cloak  of  her  authority  dropped  from  his  wife's 
shoulders  and  she  shrank  in  her  chair  as  her  meek 
reply  came. 

"Very  well — I'm  listening.  I  suppose,"  and  there 
was  a  flicker  of  her  sternness  and  sarcasm,  "I  may 
as  well  try  to  comprehend  you  and  your  very  peculiar 
attitude " 

Hugh  Benton  flicked  his  cigarette  into  the  wide 
fireplace,  staring  after  it  a  moment  before  he  turned 
to  face  his  wife.  With  arms  folded,  he  towered 
over  her,  his  whole  manner  that  of  a  stern,  unyield- 
ing judge. 

"Marjorie,"   he  began,   "I  realize  that  you  are 


86 

my  wife,  and  as  such,  entitled  to  many  privileges. 
But  there  is  such  a  thing  as  carrying  your  prejudices 
too  far.  The  way  matters  have  been  going  on  in  this 
house  for  some  time  now  simply  cannot  continue. 
Not  only  the  children,  but  I,  myself,  have  reached 
the  limit  of  my  endurance.  We  came  to  New  York 
sixteen  years  ago  at  your  suggestion,  not  mine.  I 
always  wish  you  to  remember  that.  When  I  real- 
ized that  your  one  ambition  was  for  me  to  become 
a  success  in  this  great  metropolis,  I  determined  to 
use  all  my  energies  and  capabilities  to  satisfy  your 
desires.  Financially  and  socially  I  believe  I  have 
reached  your  expectations.  In  everything  else  my 
life  is  a  complete  failure." 

"Failure?"  Marjorie's  voice  trembled  as  her  face 
showed  her  genuine  surprise. 

Hugh  nodded  emphatically.  "Yes,  failure,"  he 
emphasized.  "My  children  love  me,  not  for  myself, 
but  because  I  am  able  to  gratify  all  of  their  whims 
and  desires,  and  strange  to  say,  I  am  perfectly  willing 
to  pay  for  their  show  of  affection,  because  it  is  the 
only  tie  that  binds  me  to  my  home." 

Tears  of  distress  which  in  spite  of  her  pride  forced 
themselves  to  unwelcome  eyes,  trembled  on  Mar- 
jorie  Benton's  eyelids  and  splashed  down  on  the 
hands  folded  so  quietly  over  her  somber  gray  gown. 

"Hugh!"  she  cried,  distressed.  "Surely  you  don't 
know  what  you  say!  What  about  your  wife?" 

"You  asked  the  same  thing  years  ago,  Mar- 
jorie,"  Hugh  answered  bitterly,  "when  we  discussed 
the  advisability  of  coming  to  New  York.  You  were 
all  the  world  to  me  then,  and " 

"And  now  I  am  nothing."  Marjorie's  quivering 
lips  completed  the  sentence.  "I — I  understand, 
Hugh." 

"You  are  still  the  mother  of  my  children,  despite 
the  fact  that  they  are  both  disappointments  to  me." 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT         87 

Hugh  was  calm  in  the  face  of  his  wife's  tragedy, 
but  his  very  calmness  gave  back  to  his  wife  some  of 
her  fighting  spirit. 

"If  they  are  disappointments  to  you,  it  is  your 
own  fault,"  she  flared.  "You  humor  them  beyond 
all  reason.  I  try  to  enforce  strict  discipline,  and  you 
invariably  interfere.  This  very  evening  when  I  at- 
tempted to  reprimand  Elinor,  you  resorted  to  almost 
childish  subterfuge  to  prevent  an  argument." 

"I'll  tell  you  why  I  interfere."  Hugh  was  getting 
to  the  gist  of  his  lecture.  "It  is  for  the  simple  reason 
that  I  consider  you  the  real  culprit.  The  children 
are  not  to  blame  because  they  are  selfish,  worldly, 
way  beyond  their  age,  and  lacking  in  love  and  respect 
for  their  parents.  You  raised  them  both  in  schools 
and  colleges  where  they  were  thrown  in  contact  with 
the  wrong  companions.  Had  you  kept  your  chil- 
dren with  you  and  reared  them  in  the  environment 
of  home  and  love,  everything  would  have  been  dif- 
ferent." 

"How  like  you  to  put  the  blame  on  me."  Mar- 
jorie's  lip  curled  in  scorn,  and  her  foot  in  its  common 
sense  high  shoe  tapped  impatiently  on  the  soft-toned 
rug.  But  Hugh  Benton  was  in  too  deadly  earnest 
to  be  switched  from  his  main  topic  by  a  side  remark. 
He  went  on,  as  though  his  wife  had  not  spoken. 

"And  now,  you  expect  a  girl  and  boy,  grown  up, 
to  obey  you  implicitly,  and  change  in  a  few  days  the 
training  they  have  received  for  years.  I  tell  you, 
Marjorie,  you  are  employing  the  wrong  method. 
You  must  realize  it  is  too  late  for  you  to  command, 
and  if  you  persist  in  continually  arguing  with  Elinor, 
and  criticising  her  every  act,  you  will  drive  her  to 
desperation,  that's  all.  She  is  a  self-willed  and  head- 
strong girl,  and  it  is  necessary  to  handle  her  with 
caution  and  the  utmost  diplomacy." 

Marjorie  could  not  forbear  one  bitter  reminder. 


88         THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

"As  long  as  you  find  so  much  fault  with  your  family, 
why  don't  you  devote  less  time  to  your  club  and  try 
to  remodel  them?" 

"If  you  were  the  kind  of  a  wife  I  once  believed 
you  to  be  I  shouldn't  have  to  find  diversion  at  my 
club,"  Hugh  answered  sadly.  "But  what  do  I  ever 
find  at  home  now,  save  criticism." 

"You  really  are  a  badly  abused  man,  Hugh. 
First  it  is  your  children,  and  now  your  wife — I  don't 
see  how  you  manage  to  bear  up  under  your  heavy 
burden." 

The  tinge  of  sarcasm  in  Marjorie's  voice  stung 
Hugh  to  the  quick.  His  fist  banged  down  on  the 
table  with  rage. 

"What  is  the  use?"  he  exclaimed  violently.  "I 
may  as  well  try  to  reason  with  an  infant.  We  have 
been  drifting  further  and  further  apart  until  we 
haven't  a  single  idea  in  common.  Our  lives  together 
under  this  roof  is  a  mockery,  but  up  to  now  I  have 
always  remembered  that  you  are  my  wife  and  have 
never  as  much  as  permitted  myself  to  indulge  in  the 
thought  of  another  woman;  but  from  this  moment 
I  am  through  with  conventionality.  I  am  going  to 
drift  wherever  the  tide  takes  me.  If  you  don't  care 
to  be  a  wife  to  me,  to  interest  yourself  in  at  least 
some  of  my  interests — I  can't  find  happiness  in  my 
own  home,  I  shall  seek  it  elsewhere !" 

In  his  old  manner  of  having  said  the  last  word 
on  a  subject,  Hugh  Benton  jammed  his  hands  in  his 
pockets  and  stalked  to  the  door.  Marjorie  heard 
him  call  out  an  order  to  have  the  limousine  at  the 
door  in  fifteen  minutes.  Then  she  looked  up  to  see 
him  standing  with  his  hand  on  the  door  knob  as  he 
looked  back  into  the  room  for  one  last  word. 

"And  another  thing !"  He  fairly  bit  off  his  words. 
"I  understand  you've  decided  to  decline  our  invita- 
tion to  the  Thurston's  ball  on  the  seventeenth 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT         89 

through  some  foolish  notion  of  not  approving  of 
some  of  their  relations  or  guests.  You  are  to  accept 
at  once — understand?  I  intend  going  and  taking 
ElinorT' 

Marjorie  nodded  dully — and  with  no  other  word 
he  was  gone. 

For  long  minutes  after  the  door  had  banged  after 
her  husband,  Marjorie  Benton  sat  quietly  in  her 
chair,  almost  too  stunned  to  think.  Surely  she  must 
have  been  dreaming.  Hugh  had  never  before  dis- 
played such  a  temper.  The  things  he  had  said  were 
positively  indecent.  She  was  aroused  from  her 
reverie  by  the  slamming  of  the  front  door  and  the 
sound  of  the  machine  going  down  the  driveway. 
She  sighed  as  she  got  slowly  to  her  feet.  She  re- 
membered she  must  talk  to  Elinor.  She  must  not 
let  what  Hugh  had  said  interfere  with  her  duty.  At 
the  locked  door  she  rapped  softly. 

"Who  is  it?"  called  the  girl. 

"It's  mother,  dear!  I  have  come  to  have  a  talk 
with  you." 

"Sorry,  mother,  but  I  have  a  dreadful  headache," 
was  the  languid  response.  "You  will  have  to  wait 
until  another  time." 

"I  am  not  going  to  scold — I  just  want  to  have  a 
heart-to-heart  chat  with  you,  dear."  Marjorie  was 
surprised  at  her  own  pleading  voice  as  a  lump  rose 
in  her  throat. 

"I'd  rather  not  talk  to-night,  mother — please  ex- 
cuse me." 

"Very  well,"  Marjorie  faltered,  but  as  she 
turned  toward  her  own  rooms,  the  hot  tears  rolled 
down  her  cheeks. 

On  Tuesday  afternoon,  at  precisely  two  o'clock, 
Templeton  Druid  parked  his  classy  little  roadster 
near  the  57th  Street  entrance  of  the  park,  and  paced 


90         THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

slowly  up  and  'down.  He  was  waiting  for  Elinor 
Benton.  Time  after  time  he  glanced  impatiently  at 
his  watch.  He  had  never  before  waited  for  anyone 
< — this  was  a  new  experience. 

It  was  twenty  minutes  past  two  when  he  saw  her 
alight  from  a  taxi  in  front  of  the  Plaza.  He  hast- 
ened forward  to  meet  her.  All  his  anger  at  her 
tardiness  melted  away  immediately  at  sight  of  the 
beautiful  girl  in  her  stunning  sport  suit  and  hat  of 
Chinese  blue. 

"I'm  so  sorry  to  have  kept  you  waiting,"  was  her 
breathless  greeting.  "I — I — was  unavoidably  de- 
tained." 

She  felt  she  just  could  not  confess  to  this  man 
her  difficulties  in  endeavoring  to  get  away  from  her 
mother. 

Marjorie  always  attended  a  settlement  meeting  on 
Tuesday,  so  usually  Elinor  was  free  to  do  as  she 
pleased;  but  to-day,  the  president  had  been  reported 
ill  and  the  meeting  was  postponed. 

So  it  had  been  only  through  soliciting  the  aid  of 
Mrs.  DeLacy  over  the  telephone  that  Elinor  finally 
managed  to  keep  her  appointment.  Mrs.  DeLacy 
called  for  her  in  the  Thurston  car,  begging  that  she 
accompany  her  to  the  dentist.  Before  her  mother 
had  a  chance  to  utter  a  protest,  Elinor  had  consented, 
so  there  was  nothing  for  Marjorie  to  do.  As  soon 
as  they  were  a  safe  distance  from  home,  Elinor 
summoned  a  taxi  and  hastened  to  her  rendezvous. 
But  had  she  been  able  to  read  her  dear  Geraldine's 
thoughts  as  that  fair  chaperone  lounged  comfortably 
on  her  way  to  the  shopping  district,  the  Benton 
heiress  might  not  have  felt  so  grateful  as  she  went 
light-hearted  to  meet  her  matinee  idol.  For  Geral- 
dine  DeLacy,  widow,  social  parasite,  chaperone  de 
luxe,  was  racking  her  clever  brains  for  a  plan 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT         91 

whereby  she  might  most  advantageously  use  the  con- 
fidence Elinor  had  been  obliged  to  place  in  her. 

"Nothing  matters,  now  that  you  are  here,"  was 
Templeton's  gallant  reply  to  the  girl's  apology.  "I 
was  only  beginning  to  fear  you  would  not  come — 
but  now " 

Elinor's  eyes  were  on  the  actor's  car  as  he  led 
her  to  it.  She  glowed. 

"What  a  stunning  little  car!"  she  cried,  in  delight. 

To  praise  any  of  Templeton  Druid's  possessions 
was  the  next  best  thing  to  praising  him.  But  it  was 
with  a  blase  air  that  he  consented  to  agree  with  his 
guest,  as  he  turned  the  wheel  to  head  toward  Long 
Island. 

"Yes,  she  is  a  good  little  car,"  he  admitted,  a  bit 
boredly,  as  though  condescending  to  praise  the  ma- 
chine. "When  we  get  out  on  the  road,  I'll  let  her 
out  a  bit  and  show  you  what  she  can  do." 

Elinor's  eyes  gained  a  new  sparkle  as  the  air 
colored  her  cheeks. 

"It  seems  wonderful  to  be  riding  like  this,"  she 
enthused.  "I'm  so  tired  of  always  riding  behind  a 
chauffeur.  Dad  wanted  to  buy  me  a  car  of  my  own, 
but  mother  wouldn't  consider  it.  He  is  going  to  buy 
one  for  my  brother  when  he  graduates,  and  then  I'll 
coax  Howard  into  teaching  me  how  to  run  it."  And 
Elinor's  eyes  brightened  with  anticipation. 

"You  don't  have  to  wait  for  that,"  Templeton 
answered  magnanimously.  "I'm  going  to  teach  you 
how  to  run  mine  this  very  day.  Just  as  soon  as  we 
strike  a  nice  stretch  of  road,  I'll  put  you  at  the 
wheel." 

"How  perfectly  splendid!  But  I'm  afraid  you 
will  find  me  an  awkward  pupil." 

"I  promise  not  to  become  impatient,"  Templeton 
laughed,  "but  I  warn  you  I  may  exact  a  tiny  pay- 
ment." 


92          THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

Elinor  caught  her  breath  a  little  as  she  recognized 
the  eager  boldness  with  which  the  actor  looked  into 
her  eyes,  as  they  paused  at  a  crossing  at  the  com- 
mand of  the  uplifted  white  hand  of  a  traffic  officer. 
But  already  she  had  determined  that  her  companion 
should  not  put  her  in  the  class  of  the  unsophisticated. 
For  this  one  day  she  would  put  behind  her  all 
thoughts  of  prudishness,  all  the  reminders  of  her 
mother's  teachings  she  had  come  so  to  despise,  but 
had  not  quite  forgotten.  So  her  blush  was  belied 
by  the  boldness  of  her  words  as  she  pertly  retorted : 

"IVe  never  yet  heard  a  complaint  that  I  don't 
pay  my  debts!" 

Templeton  Druid  smiled  complacently  as  he  turned 
in  at  the  ferry  entrance.  This  was  going  to  be  easier 
than  he  thought.  But — oh,  well,  wasn't  that  always 
the  way.  There  was  certainly  something  in  being 
Templeton  Druid. 

It  was  a  glorious  day.  The  sun  shone  radiantly, 
and  the  balmy  breath  of  spring  with  bewildering 
fragrance  flooded  the  atmosphere. 

Gradually  her  companion  persuaded  Elinor  Ben- 
ton  to  talk  of  herself  and  family.  Before  long  she 
was  telling  him  her  life's  history  without  once  sus- 
pecting that  he  had  purposely  encouraged  her  to 
do  so. 

"By  the  way,"  he  suddenly  seemed  to  remember. 
"I  forgot  to  tell  you  something.  Through  Mrs. 
DeLacy's  kindness  I  have  received  an  invitation  to 
a  dance  at  the  Thurstons'  on  the  lyth." 

"Splendid!"  Elinor  exclaimed,  her  eyes  dancing 
her  pleasure.  "Of  course,  you'll  accept?" 

The  man  shook  his  head  slowly.  "I  have  thought 
of  declining  because  I  can't  get  there  until  after  the 
theater,"  he  demurred,  "and  that  will  be  so  late,  but 
of  course,  if  you  wish  me  to  come " 

"Why,  of  course,  I  do — ever  so  much!" 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT         93 

"You'll  promise  to  save  a  dance  for  me?" 

"Two,"  promised  the  girl,  her  mind  busily  en- 
gaged with  the  thought  of  a  wonderful  new  frock 
for  the  occasion. 

True  to  his  word,  he  put  her  at  the  wheel,  and 
she  thoroughly  enjoyed  her  first  lesson  in  driving. 
The  rose  color  flamed  in  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes 
sparkled  like  twin  stars.  Templeton  Druid,  glancing 
at  her  from  the  corner  of  his  eye,  caught  his  breath 
in  admiration.  "She  is  only  a  slip  of  a  girl,"  he 
thought.  "But  what  a  magnificent  woman  she  will 
be!" 

As  they  stood  up  to  leave  the  little  inn  where  they 
had  their  sandwiches  and  tea,  the  actor,  in  his  most 
courtly  manner  bent  over,  and  reaching  for  her 
hand,  pressed  his  lips  gently  to  the  tips  of  her  fingers. 

His  was  a  vast  experience  with  women.  It  had 
taught  him  much,  enough  to  realize  that,  impetuous 
and  pampered  as  this  girl  was,  he  must  use  the  ut- 
most discrimination  in  endeavoring  to  arouse  Her 
admiration. 

Elinor's  heart  pounded  bewilderingly  as  she  with- 
drew her  hand  and  turned  toward  the  car.  It  had 
not  resumed  its  rhythmic  beating  even  when  they 
reached  the  Plaza  where  they  were  met  by  Mrs. 
DeLacy,  who  was  true  to  her  promise  to  see  Elinor 
through  her  escapade.  Templeton  Druid  found 
time  for  one  confidential  whisper. 

"Now  don't  forget  your  promise,"  he  reminded, 
his  tone  languishing  as  though  nothing  else  in  the 
world  meant  so  much.  "Be  sure  to  'phone  me  to- 
morrow morning  and  let  me  know  when  I  can  see 
you  again." 

^  Elinor  nodded  but  her  eyes  betrayed  much  to  that 
wise  little  lady  when  she  took  her  seat  by  Geraldine 
DeLacy's  side  in  the  Thurston  limousine. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

JUDGED  from  a  standpoint  of  society  notables 
present,  the  Thurston  dance  was  the  success  of 
the  season.  True,  there  was  a  notable  lack  of 
the  old  conservative  element,  the  Knickerbocker 
strain,  but  no  one  noticed  the  absence  of  these  kill- 
joys, as  some  of  the  younger  set  were  wont  to  refer 
to  them,  and  their  absence  was  more  than  atoned  for 
by  the  bevy  of  debutantes,  second-season  belles  and 
attractive  matrons  whose  doings  filled  so  many 
columns  in  the  society  gossip.  To  say  nothing  of  a 
scattering  of  celebrities.  And  to  anyone  who  knew 
him,  it  was  plain  that  Templeton  Druid  considered 
himself  not  the  least  of  these. 

The  Broadway  star  made  a  late,  a  very  late  ap- 
pearance— the  affair  had  progressed  to  the  stage 
where  the  younger  set  had  long  since  abandoned 
their  more  proper  dancing  for  the  jazziest  of  modern 
Terpsichorean  feats,  utterly  careless,  in  most  cases, 
oblivious  of  the  few  frowns  that  met  them  from  the 
few  older  matrons  who  had  not  accustomed  them- 
selves to  seeing  the  sons  and  daughters  of  their  own 
sort  resort  to  the  gyrations  of  public  dance  halls. 

The  Bentons,  father  and  daughter,  (it  had  been 
the  greatest  joy  to  Elinor  when  her  mother  had 
made  a  final  declination  of  her  own  and  her  father's 
invitation  to  accompany  them)  were  among  the 
earlier  arrivals.  Elinor  Benton  had  not  yet  become 
so  blase  that  she  was  willing  to  forego  any  moment 
of  triumph  which  was  inevitably  hers  at  such  an 
affair.  Her  very  happiness  at  the  thought  of  meet- 
ing Templeton  Druid  again  (though  that  one  ride 
had  only  been  the  precursor  of  others  which  had  fol- 

94 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT         95 

lowed  and  which  had  led  in  this  short  time  to  an  in- 
timacy she  had  never  known  with  any  of  the  men  in 
her  own  set),  of  being  held  in  his  arms  in  the  dance, 
and  with  the  added  zest  of  being  from  under  her 
mother's  eyes,  for  she  had  dreaded  the  thought  of 
introducing   the  matinee   hero   to   her  mother   and 
being  questioned  as  to  her  friendship,  had  further 
enhanced  the  beauty  that  made  her  the  center  of 
attraction  wherever  she  went.     Much  thought  had 
been  spent  on  the  gown  she  wore — a  marvelous  crea- 
tion of  georgette  crepe,  its  couleur  de  rose  shading 
from  the  deepest  tint  to  a  delicate  shell  pink.     And 
strangely  enough  for  her,  it  had  not  been  the  thought 
that   it   would   bring   the    usual   crowds    of   callow 
youth  about  her  that  had  been  responsible  for  the 
careful    toilette.      What   Templeton    Druid    would 
think  of  her — could  she  further  bring  him  to  her 
feet — had  been  the  all-absorbing  hope  as  she  had 
stood  before  her  long  mirror  while  her  maid  put  the 
finishing  touches  to  the  dream  she  saw  before  her. 
Elinor  Benton  had  no  worry  about  her  father  as 
far   as   her   actor  was   concerned.      She  knew  her 
father — knew   his   careless   acceptance   of   anything 
she  might  tell  him;  knew,  too,  the  only  half  hidden 
snobbery   that  would   accept  without   question   any 
guest  of  the  Thurstons.     Hugh  Benton  had  reached 
the  point  where  his  society  gods  and  goddesses  could 
do  no  wrong. 

A  one-step  was  starting  as  the  Bentons  entered 
the  big  ball  room.  Hugh  looked  about  him  with  as 
happy  eyes  as  did  his  daughter.  This  was  the  kind 
of  thing  he  loved;  this  what  he  had  always  been 
denied.  His  wife  cared  so  little  for  the  enjoyments 
of  the  society  into  which  his  hard  work  and  diplo- 
macy had  landed  them.  But  had  he  been  a  bit  more 
observant,  he  would  have  seen  that  his  little  girl's 
eyes  were  not  as  care-free  as  usual,  that  she  was 


96         THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

restless;  there  was  still  something  that  must  occur 
to  make  her  happiness  complete.  There  was  the 
thought  that  three  hours  must  elapse  before  Temple- 
ton  Druid  should  make  his  appearance.  She  saw 
several  youths  making  their  way  in  her  direction. 
Of  a  sudden  they  seemed  unspeakably  inane.  She 
did  not  want  to  dance  with  them.  She  placed  her 
hand  on  her  father's  arm. 

"Come  on,  Dad,  let's  dance,"  she  urged.  "This 
is  a  one-step;  I  know  you  can  dance  that " 

Hugh  Benton  looked  down  and  laughed  as  he 
placed  his  arm  about  his  daughter. 

"What's  in  the  baby  that  makes  her  want  to  dance 
with  her  old  Dad,  instead  of  these  youngsters  who 
are  breaking  their  necks  to  reach  her?"  he  asked 
humorously.  But  as  they  swung  off,  Elinor  looked 
up  at  him,  wrinkled  her  pretty  nose  and  sniffed  as 
she  murmured:  "My  old  Dad!  Hmmph!  Hand- 
somest, youngest  man  in  the  room,  I'll  tell  the  world. 
The  girls'll  all  be  dying  with  jealousy " 

A  light-gloved  hand  brushed  her  bare  arm.  A 
warm  perfume  unlike  any  he  had  ever  smelt  made 
Hugh  Benton  glance  up  quickly.  A  soft  musical 
voice  drawled: 

"Hello,  child!  Do  I  have  to  interrupt  your  dance 
to  make  you  notice  me — to  say  good-evening.  I've 
been  trying  to  catch  your  eye  ever  since  you  came  in." 

Elinor  Benton  swung  out  of  her  father's  arms  to 
face  Geraldine  DeLacy — a  marvelous  Geraldine  in 
her  soft  clinging  iridescent  gown,  her  deep  dark  eyes 
sparkling  with  pleasurable  enjoyment,  as  though 
seeing  and  speaking  with  Elinor  Benton  was  the 
event  of  the  evening  most  to  be  desired. 

"Oh,  Geraldine,"  cried  the  girl.  "Isn't  it  fine  to 
see  you!  And  right  now  when  I'm  with  Dad. 
Goodness  knows,"  and  she  flashed  an  impish  smile 
at  her  parent,  "when  the  other  girls  get  a  chance  at 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT         97 

him,  I'm  going  to  see  precious  little  of  him  this 
evening — and  I  do  so  want  you  two  to  know  each 
other.  This  is  Mrs.  DeLacy,  Dad — you  know, 
Geraldine,  of  whom  I've  told  you  so  much." 

"She  has  indeed,  Mrs.  DeLacy,"  Hugh  Benton 
added  cordially.  "I  feel  almost  as  if  we  were  old 
friends " 

The  woman  shot  him  an  arch  glance. 

" Which  we  may  be,  I  hope?"  she  queried,  and 
there  was  something  in  that  glance  and  appealing 
voice  which  sent  a  quiver  through  the  financier's 
nerve  centers  such  as  he  had  not  known  in  many  a 
day.  "As  I  hope,"  she  added,  playfully  pinching 
Elinor's  cheek,  "that  it  has  been  nice  things  this  child 
has  been  saying  about  me." 

Elinor  interrupted  breathlessly. 

"Why,  Dad,  I  told  you,  didn't  I,  that  she  was 
beautiful  and  fascinating  and " 

"Quite  the  most  wonderful  creature  alive — I 
admit  it  myself,"  Geraldine's  laugh  was  whole- 
hearted, but  the  look  she  gave  Hugh  was  one  of 
mutual  understanding.  "It's  quite  wonderful  to  be 
a  chaperone  to  children  who  can  find  no  fault  in  you 
because  you  love  to  see  them  enjoy  themselves.  And 
besides,  a  widow  must  have  some  admiration,  and 
from  what  better  source  than  the  girls  she  loves?" 

Hugh  Benton  had  appreciated  the  glance  of  under- 
standing, but  now  he  could  not  restrain  his  gallant: 
"She  wasn't  half  eloquent  enough,  Mrs.  DeLacy." 

Geraldine  smiled  and  lowered  her  lashes  over  her 
wonderful  dark  eyes. 

"It's  so  fine  to  hear  such  things — even  if  one  is 
not  a  debutante,  and  of  course,  has  to  take  a  back 
seat  at  such  affairs  as  this." 

The  music  was  beginning  for  a  new  dance.  Elinor 
saw  Frank  Joyce,  whose  name  was  on  her  card,  ap- 
proaching. 


98         THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

"Oh,  Dad,"  she  said,  regretfully,  "we've  misse'd 
our  dance,  but  we'll  have  another  later.  Take  good 
care  of  my  family,  Geraldine,"  she  called  laughingly 
as  she  whirled  away  in  young  Joyce's  arms,  her  mind 
still  on  the  slow  moving  time  that  separated  her 
from  Templeton  Druid. 

"Would  you  care  to  dance,  Mrs.  DeLacy,  or 
would  you  prefer  sitting  it  out?"  asked  Hugh. 

"Oh,  let's  talk,"  Geraldine  replied  eagerly.  "I 
can  always  dance,  but — "  Her  eyes  were  full  of 
meaning.  Hugh  linked  her  arm  within  his  and  led 
her  out  to  one  of  the  verandahs. 

"Will  you  have  a  wrap?"  he  inquired  solicitously. 

"Thank  you,  no, — the  night  is  glorious." 

"This  seems  cozy,"  Hugh  said,  as  he  drew  up  two 
wicker  easy  chairs  beside  a  row  of  potted  palms. 

They  were  at  the  farthest  end  of  the  verandah. 
Music  floated  out  from  the  ballroom,  the  soft  rays 
of  the  moon  slanted  toward  them,  and  the  fragrance 
of  the  sweet  peas  and  roses  was  wafted  up  from  the 
sunken  gardens. 

Geraldine  heaved  a  little  sigh  of  contentment  and 
settled  back  in  her  chair:  "I'm  sorry  to  have  made 
you  miss  your  dance  with  Elinor." 

"The  pleasure  of  meeting  you  has  entirely  recom- 
pensed me,"  Hugh  replied  gallantly. 

"How  lovely  of  you  to  say  that."  Geraldine  stared 
at  Hugh  so  openly  for  a  few  moments,  that  he  found 
himself  blushing  like  a  school-girl. 

"I — I — beg  your  pardon,"  she  stammered.  "I 
didn't  mean  to  stare  so  rudely,  only  I  just  can't 
realize  it." 

"What  is  it  that  you  can't  realize?" 

"Why,  that  you  are  Elinor's  father — you  are  so 
— so  young!" 

"I'm  forty-four  years  old,"  Hugh  answered  smil- 
ingly. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT         99 

"Really,  Mr.  Benton!  Surely  you  have  'discov- 
ered an  elixir  of  youth.  I've  met  Mrs.  Benton,  and 
I  can't  understand  how  you — oh  please — forgive  me 
— I  have  an  abominable  habit  of  thinking  aloud." 
Geraldine  lowered  her  eyes  while  she  waited  anx- 
iously to  see  what  effect  her  thrust  had  taken. 

"My  wife  is  four  years  younger  than  I,"  Hugh 
replied  gravely.  "You  must  remember  that  time 
deals  more  lightly  with  a  man  than  it  does  with  a 
woman." 

"You  won't  think  I'm  presuming  if  I  say  that  any- 
one would  take  Mrs.  Benton  to  be  many  years  your 
senior.  Has  she  been  ill?" 

"No,  Mrs.  Benton  has  not  been  ill,"  he  sighed. 
i"She  is  quite  reserved,  and  a  bit  old-fashioned. 
Don't  you  think  it  rather  difficult  to  keep  one's  youth 
without  indulging  in  a  few  modern  pleasures?" 

"Indeed,  I  do,"  Geraldine  answered,  and  her  sigh 
asked  for  understanding  as  she  added,  as  though 
reluctantly,  "and  I  can  sympathize  with  you — my 
husband  and  I  were — er " 

All  the  world — all  his  own  world  of  finance  and 
business,  at  least,  gave  Hugh  Benton  credit  for  being 
a  clever  man.  It  was  a  common  expression  among 
his  club  and  business  associates  that  anyone  would 
have  to  get  up  early  to  put  anything  over  on  Hugh 
Benton.  But  there  would  have  been  smiles,  con- 
temptuous, tolerant,  amused,  could  those  men  have 
seen  Hugh  Benton  in  the  hands  of  a  woman  as  clever 
as  himself,  cleverer  by  far,  in  her  own  sphere.  For 
Hugh  Benton  had  never  lived  by  his  wits.  Geral- 
dine DeLacy's  daily  bread  depended  on  hers.  She 
molded  him  like  wax.  In  her  hands  he  was  pliable 
as  a  child.  It  would  have  astonished  even  him  could 
he  have  stood  off  in  an  astral  body  and  heard  him- 
self discussing  his  most  intimate  domestic  affairs 
with  a  total  stranger.  He  did  not  know  that  Mrs. 


loo       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

DeLacy  was  but  satisfying  her  curiosity  concerning 
the  rumors  she  had  heard  of  incompatibility  in  the 
Benton  family,  but  Geraldine  knew  that  it  took  her 
but  one-half  hour  to  discover  all  she  wished  to  know. 

But  as  he  talked,  becoming  each  minute  more  con- 
fidential, it  seemed  less  and  less  that  this  beautiful 
woman  was  a  stranger.  It  was  so  much  to  have  her 
sitting  next  to  him,  looking  at  him  tenderly,  with  eyes 
expressing  sympathy  and  warmth.  Her  complete 
understanding  of  everything  he  said  seemed  so  thor- 
ough. Her  capability  to  grasp  intuitively  his  inner- 
most thoughts  amazed  him. 

Geraldine  adroitly  turned  the  conversation  to  her- 
self. She  spoke  of  marriage  to  a  man  uncongenial 
to  her  every  way — a  marriage  described  as  a  sacri- 
fice to  save  a  home  for  her  people — one  of  the  old 
families  of  Virginia, — and  then  of  her  widowhood; 
how  Mr.  DeLacy  had  passed  away  six  years  ago, 
after  losing  his  entire  fortune,  and  leaving  her  a 
mere  pittance  of  an  income,  barely  enabling  her  to 
keep  up  a  respectable  appearance. 

Hugh  unconsciously  cast  a  look  of  surprised  in- 
quiry at  her  magnificent  gown. 

Geraldine  shrugged  and  laughed  a  little  bitterly. 

"You  are  looking  at  my  gown,"  she  interposed 
quickly.  "I'll  tell  you  a  secret,  one  that  I  have  never 
confided  in  another  soul — I  make  all  my  own  gowns. 
But  what  is  one  to  do?"  She  spread  her  hands  in  a 
gesture  of  mute  helplessness. 

"Remarkable!"  Hugh  was  genuinely  admiring. 
"But  it  must  keep  you  very  busy." 

"It  does — sometimes  I  sit  up  until  four  in  the 
morning  sewing — I  can't  let  it  interfere  with  any 
of  my  social  engagements,  and  still  I  must  do  it — 
it  is  the  only  way  I  can  manage  at  all.  Why  the 
price  of  the  gown  your  daughter  is  wearing  this 
evening  would  provide  six  for  me." 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT        101 

"Wonderful  little  woman!"  Hugh  reached  out 
'daringly  to  pat  her  hand.  "So  few  women  would 
be  content  under  such  circumstances." 

"Oh,  but  I'm  not  always  content.  Sometimes  I 
become  very  much  discouraged,  and  heartsick — I'm 
so  terribly  alone  in  the  world.  The  Thurstons  are 
good,  kind  people,  but  somehow  I  just  can't  unburden 
myself  to  them.  We  Lees,  of  Virginia,  are  so  ter- 
ribly proud,  you  know.  If  I  only  had  someone  to 
take  a  little  interest  in  my  affairs — the  small  amount 
of  money  that  I  have  invested  properly  would  mean 
so  much  to  me." 

Had  this  bald  bid  come  from  any  man  he  knew, 
Hugh  Benton  would  have  smiled  his  understanding 
smile  and  put  it  from  his  mind.  But  now  so  thor- 
oughly had  Geraldine  DeLacy  hypnotized  the  man 
who  for  years  had  been  without  sympathy  or  the 
flattery  that  is  man's  meed  that  he  did  not  even  see 
that  it  was  a  blatant  asking  for  aid.  All  he  could 
see  was  that  here  was  a  beautiful,  a  sympathetic,  an 
understanding  woman  in  financial  straits,  that  she, 
proud  as  she  was,  had  confided  in  him,  had  given 
him  confidence  for  confidence  in  the  short  time  it 
had  taken  them  to  be  such  good  friends,  and  that 
he  knew  he  could  aid  her.  Why,  he  could  make  it 
possible  for  her  to  be  independent  of  any  of  these 
friends  or  relatives.  It  would  not  be  necessary  for 
her  to  sit  up  late  at  night,  dimming  her  wonderful 
eyes,  pricking  those  dainty  fingers  making  gowns  in 
which  she  looked  so  amazingly  well  dressed.  He 
could  imagine  how  hard  it  was  for  her  to  have  to 
depend  on  even  such  relations  as  the  Thurstons. 
Here  was  his  opportunity  to  show  himself  a  real 
friend — not  the  casual  acquaintance  of  a  few  idle 
hours  at  a  dance,  talking  while  the  music  purred  and 
the  moon  made  it  an  hour  for  confidences. 

"Why  not  let  me  help  you?"  he  asked  eagerly. 


102        THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

"You  know,  investing  money  is  my  business,  ari3 
when  I  hear  of  something  good,  let  me  double  or 
triple  that  little  sum  for  you?" 

"Why,  Mr.  Benton!"  Geraldine  exclaimed,  con- 
cealing her  delight  with  well-feigned  emotion.  "You 
surely  wouldn't  bother  with  me!  I  couldn't  let  a 
busy  man  like  you." 

"It  would  be  the  greatest  pleasure,  Mrs.  DeLacy." 

"But  it — it  seems  like  such  an  imposition!  Oh, 
it — it  actually  looks  as  though  I — I  was  hinting — 
Oh,  Mr.  Benton,  I  wouldn't  have  you  think  that  for 
the  world!" 

"Nonsense!  I  don't  think  anything  of  the  kind. 
You  happened  to  mention  your  affairs  and  I  hap- 
pened to  be  in  a  position  to  render  you  a  little  assist- 
ance— that's  all  there  is  about  it." 

"AH?— Why— I— I—"  Geraldine  covered  her 
eyes  with  her  handkerchief  and  began  to  sob  softly. 

"Oh,  please,"  Hugh  drew  her  hands  from  her  eyes 
and  patted  her  shoulder  consolingly.  "I  can't  bear 
to  see  a  woman  cry." 

"You're  like  all  men  in  that  respect,"  Geraldine 
dried  her  eyes  obediently  and  smiled  up  at  him.  "But 
in  every  other  way  you're  so  different — I  never  met 
anyone  like  you — my  friend.  I  won't  attempt  to 
thank  you  now;  I  should  only  cry  again.  Hadn't 
we  better  join  the  others?"  Geraldine  rose  from  her 
chair. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  we  must."  Hugh  reached  for 
her  hand  and  kissed  the  tips  of  her  fingers.  "But," 
he  added,  meaningly,  "remember  this — you  have 
called  me  your  friend  and — we  shall  meet  again." 
He  finished  abruptly  as  he  led  her  toward  the 
brightly-lighted  windows,  and  there  was  determina- 
tion in  his  tone. 

Nell  Thurston  was  just  taking  Templeton  Druid, 
who  had  but  made  his  belated  pompous  appearance, 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       503 

over  to  meet  her  father  and  mother  when  Mrs.  De- 
Lacy  re-entered  the  ballroom  on  the  arm  of  Hugh 
Benton.  They  made  their  way  toward  Elinor  who 
stood  alone  for  the  moment,  her  eyes  fastened  with 
all  the  fascination  of  a  bird  on  its  natural  enemy  on 
the  tall,  lithe  figure  of  the  Thespian.  So  interested 
was  she  that  she  did  not  even  see  her  father  and 
friend,  though  she  had  taken  occasion  two  or  three 
times  to  wonder  a  little  at  their  prolonged  absence. 
"He's  here  just  to  see  me — me!"  was  her  exultant 
thought.  "Oh,  what  would  they  all  think  if  they 
knew,"  pridefully. 

Like  nearly  everyone  else  the  big  room,  so  ef- 
fectually had  Templeton  Druid  learned  to  make  his 
entrances,  Hugh  Benton  saw  the  man,  and  his  brows 
twisted  in  perplexity  as  he  looked. 

"Who  is  he?"  he  asked  his  companion.  "It  seems 
as  if  I  know  him,  but  I  can't  quite  place " 

"Templeton  Druid,"  informed  Mrs.  DeLacy. 

Hugh's  "Oh,"  was  somewhat  illuminative.  "Oh," 
he  said,  "Templeton  Druid,  the  actor?  Is  he — is 
he  a  friend  of  the  Thurstons?" 

"He's  a  friend  of  mine,"  was  Geraldine's  informa- 
tion, in  a  tone  that  removed  from  Hugh  Benton's 
mind  any  doubt  of  the  matinee  idol's  eligibility  any- 
where. "We  went  to  the  same  school  in  Richmond. 
He's  from  an  excellent  family."  They  had  reached 
Elinor's  side  just  in  time  for  the  girl  to  hear  the  last 
remark  of  Mrs.  DeLacy,  and  it  was  a  look  of  grati- 
tude she  shot  at  her  friend  and  chaperone  as  she 
quickly  took  in  of  whom  they  were  speaking.  "Ah, 
Elinor,"  purred  Geraldine,  as  she  placed  her  arm 
about  the  waist  of  the  other,  "I  see  a  friend  of  ours. 
You  know,"  and  she  turned  informatively  to  the 
father,  "I  introduced  several  girls  to  Mr.  Druid  at 
the  Waldorf  one  afternoon  while  we  were  having 
tea.  You  were  one  of  them,  weren't  you,  dear?" 


io4       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT, 

Elinor  nodded,  but  Geraldine  chattered  on.  "He's 
really  charming  and  cultured,  but — ah,  you  shall 
judge  for  yourself,  Mr.  Benton."  Templeton 
Druid,  his  introductions  to  his  hosts  completed  had 
straightened  his  tall  figure  in  its  immaculate  evening 
garb  and  was  looking  about  the  room  as  though  in 
search  of  someone.  His  glance  caught  Geraldine's 
and  she  beckoned.  He  approached  with  an  eager- 
nets  that  brought  a  frown  of  something  akin  to 
jealousy  to  the  financier's  face  as  he  bent  a  keen 
look  on  his  new-found  friend.  Geraldine  held  out 
her  hand  cordially. 

"I'm  so  glad  you  could  come,"  she  enthused. 
"You've  met  Miss  Benton,  haven't  you?"  turning 
to  Elinor,  who  felt  as  if  the  pounding  of  her  heart 
must  be  heard  above  the  buzz  of  conversation. 

"I  have  had  the  pleasure,"  Templeton  replied, 
bending  over  Elinor's  hand. 

"And  this  is  Mr.  Benton,  Elinor's  father,"  Geral- 
dine continued. 

"Glad  to  know  you,  Mr.  Druid,"  Hugh  said  as 
they  shook  hands.  "I've  always  admired  your 
work_» 

Druid's  laugh  was  frank  and  hearty. 

"And  I  yours,  Mr.  Benton,"  he  countered.  "It's 
a  far  more  popular  art."  Hugh  Benton  grinned  un- 
derstandingly. 

"We  artists,"  he  began,  but  the  bang  of  jazz  for 
the  next  dance  drowned  his  unfinished  epigram. 

"Will  you  dance,  Miss  Benton?"  Templeton 
turned  to  Elinor. 

He  held  the  girl  closely  to  him  as  they  circled 
about  the  room.  "You're  ravishingly  beautiful  to- 
night," he  whispered,  his  voice  vibrating  with  pas- 
sionate tenderness.  "Can't  we  manage  to  slip  away 
for  a  few  moments  so  that  I  can  have  you  to  my- 
self?" 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       ;ios 

"I  Hon't  see  how  we  can  possibly  get  away,"  she 
pouted  prettily.  "After  this  dance  Nell  will  be  wait- 
ing to  introduce  you  to  half  a  dozen  girls,  and  they 
will  monopolize  you  for  the  rest  of  the  evening." 

"There  isn't  a  soul  I  want  to  meet — I  only  ac- 
cepted this  invitation  in  order  to  be  near  you,"  he 
replied  quickly.  "Surely  you  can  think  of  some 
way  to  rescue  me  from  a  lot  of  uninteresting  girls. 
I  can't  see  anyone  in  this  room  but  you — dear." 

Elinor  thrilled  delightedly  at  the  "dear" — it  was 
the  first  term  of  endearment  he  had  used  in  address- 
ing her. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I  will  do,"  she  planned  quickly. 
"After  this  dance,  I'll  run  upstairs  for  a  wrap,  while 
you  manage  to  disappear  through  that  French 
window  at  the  end  of  the  room — it  leads  into  the 
garden  and  at  the  end  of  the  path,  you'll  find  an 
adorable  little  summer-house.  Wait  there  until  I 
join  you.  But  we  can  only  remain  away  a  few 
moments,"  she  continued  as  he  started  to  voice  his 
gratitude.  "The  lion  of  the  hour  will  be  missed,  you 
know,  and  a  search  instituted  for  him." 

"Five  minutes  alone  with  the  most  bewitching  girl 
in  the  world,"  he  assured  her,  "will  compensate  me 
for  the  balance  of  the  evening." 

It  was  less  hard  than  Elinor's  biased  imagination 
had  supposed  for  the  man  to  slip  away  unobserved 
to  the  "adorable  little  summer-house"  at  the  end  of 
the  path. 

"My,  but  I've  had  a  lot  of  dodging  to  do,"  Elinor 
exclaimed  breathlessly  as  she  entered  a  few  minutes 
later.  "Whenever  you're  anxious  to  avoid  people, 
one  seems  to  spring  up  like  a  jack-out-of-the-box  at 
every  turn!" 

"Elinor,"  Templeton  murmured,  reaching  for  her 
hand,  and  holding  it  close  within  his  own.  "Do  you 


io6       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

know  why  I  begged  you  to  grant  me  a  few  moments 
alone?" 

"I  can't  imagine,"  she  replied  coyly,  "unless  it 
was  for  the  purpose  of  admiring  this  wonderful 
moon." 

Elinor  Benton's  eyes  turned  upward  toward  the 
silvery  shining  circle  that  beamed  down  upon  them 
through  the  tangled  vines  of  the  summer  house.  She 
was  tantalizingly  close  to  the  man  who  still  held  her 
warm  little  fingers.  The  perfume  that  clung  about 
her  soft  young  body  stung  all  the  man's  unbridled 
senses  like  a  whiplash.  His  eyes  and  brain  saw  red 
as  he  threw  out  his  arms  and  clasped  her  roughly 
to  him,  raining  kisses  on  her  upturned  face. 

"You  tantalizing,  wonderful  little  beauty!"  he 
breathed.  "Is  there  some  vampire  in  you?  You 
know  very  well  that  I'm  mad  about  you!  I  adore 
you!  The  moon,  stars  and  sun,  all  are  eclipsed  in 
your  presence!" 

Passively  she  remained  in  his  arms  while  he  kissed 
her  again  and  again.  He  held  her  off  at  arms  length 
and  looked  longingly  at  her. 

"Do  you  care  for  me?  A  little?"  he  asked  eagerly. 
"Tell  me?" 

Elinor's  head  fell  forward  on  his  breast. 

"I — I  love  you,"  she  whispered,  but  there  was  a 
passion  in  the  whispered  words  that  even  Templeton 
Druid,  past  master  of  heart  affairs,  had  never  before 
heard. 

"My  darling!" 

His  voice  was  softly  caressing.  But  by  the  light 
of  the  moon  the  girl  in  his  arms  could  not  see  the 
triumphant  gleam  in  his  eyes. 

Content  for  the  moment  only  to  stand  heart  to 
heart  with  the  man  she  loved,  feeling  his  caressing 
touch,  hearing  his  tender  words  of  devotion,  Elinor 
Benton  let  the  world  go  by  unheeded.  Then  came 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       107 

an  unwelcome  thought  to  obtrude.  She  drew  back 
from  him,  and  stared  off  into  space. 

"Oh,  what  will  mother  say?"  she  wailed  dis- 
mally. "I'm  not  a  bit  worried  about  Dad — I  can 
easily  win  him  over — but  mother?" 

"Why?  —  Why?"  he  stammered  confusedly. 
"Need  we  tell  them  anything  about  it?" 

"You  foolish  boy!  You're  so  confused,"  she 
laughed.  "Isn't  it  customary  for  a  man  to  ask  a 
girl's  parents  for  her  hand  in  marriage?" 

"Marriage!"  he  ejaculated.  "Oh — 'to  be  sure — 
only  we  will  have  to  keep  all  this  secret  for  awhile — 
that  is  what  I  meant  by  suggesting  our  not  mention- 
ing anything  to  your  parents — just  yet.  You  see, 
dearest,  I  must  play  the  rest  of  this  season  accord- 
ing to  my  contract,  and  one-half  of  my  popularity 
is  centered  in  my  being  an  unmarried  matinee  hero. 
Besides,  there  is  another  matter,  it  will  be  necessary 
for  me  to  adjust — one  that  I  cannot  explain  at 
present." 

"I  understand,  dear.  You  are  suggesting  that  we 
remain  secretly  engaged  for  the  present?"  she  asked 
eagerly. 

"Yes — that's  it  exactly.  Do  you  mind,  sweet- 
heart?" 

"Oh,  I  think  it  will  be  wonderful;  so  delightfully 
romantic,  and  my  meeting  you  clandestinely  won't 
seem  at  all  wrong  now  that  you  are  my  affianced 
husband,"  she  replied  with  suppressed  excitement. 

"You're  a  genuine  little  sport,"  he  exclaimed, 
generously  helping  himself  to  more  of  her  kisses 
which  she  unhesitatingly  returned. 

"We  will  surely  be  missed,"  Elinor  struggled  out 
of  his  embrace,  and  began  to  readjust  her  hair.  "I'll 
hurry  back,  and  you  come  in  a  few  minutes  later." 

"Be  sure  to  telephone  to  me  to-morrow,  dearest." 

"It  is  almost  to-morrow  now.     I'll  'phone  you 


io8       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

to-day — instead,"  she  answered  laughingly  as  she 
hurried  away. 

Elinor  snuggled  in  the  car  beside  her  father  on 
their  way  home  from  the  dance.  She  was  supremely 
happy.  Her  heart  sang  in  tune  to  the  purring  of 
the  motor. 

"He  loves  me!     He  loves  me!" 

Templeton  Druid,  the  idol  of  all  the  young 
women  in  New  York — loved  her! 

It  seemed  almost  too  wonderful  to  be  true.  There 
was  but  one  flaw.  What  would  her  mother  say — 
when  she  finally  told  her?  Her  heart  missed  a  beat 
in  mere  anticipation.  "Dad  will  surely  understand," 
she  told  herself.  She  could  always  bring  him  about 
to  her  way  of  thinking. 

She  reached  for  his  hand.  "Are  you  tired,  Daddy 
dear?" 

"No,  little  one,"  he  replied.  "I  was  just  living 
over  the  evening — I  don't  remember  when  I  have 
so  thoroughly  enjoyed  myself." 

"I'm  so  glad.  I  was  afraid  you  might  be  dread- 
fully bored.  How  do  you  like  Geraldine?" 

"She  is  one  of  the  most  charming,  interesting 
women  I  have  ever  met."  His  answer  came  deci- 
sively, then  there  was  a  note  of  peevishness  in  his 
voice  as  he  added:  "Really,  Elinor,  I  can't  see  why 
your  mother  should  object  to  her." 

The  girl  tossed  her  head. 

"Oh,  mother  objects  to  anyone  who  is — well,  the 
least  bit — modern,"  she  replied  impatiently.  "Was 
she  always  so — so  old-fashioned,  Dad?" 

Hugh  closed  his  eyes.  His  thoughts  traveled  back 
over  the  years,  until  he  found  himself  sitting  on  the 
steps  of  a  humble  four-room  cottage,  a  beautiful 
girl  beside  him,  his  arm  about  her  waist,  and  her 
head  pillowed  on  his  shoulder,  their  hearts  aflame 
with  love,  pure,  warm  and,  they  believed,  changeless. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT        109 

"I  don't  know,"  he  answered  dreamily.  "Your 
mother  was  very  beautiful,  my  dear,  and  there  was 
a  time  she  meant  the  world  to  me.  Perhaps — I 
can't  tell  now — perhaps  she  was  always — what  you 
term — old-fashioned,  but  our  ideas  coincided  per- 
fectly in  those  days — now  everything  appears  differ- 
ently to  me.  I  wonder  sometimes,  am  I  the  one 
who  is  changed?" 

Elinor  Benton  gave  her  father's  arm  a  little 
squeeze. 

"Well,  if  you  were  ever  like  mother  is  to-day,  all 
I  can  say  is,  thank  heaven  you  have  changed,"  she 
said,  with  fervor.  "But  Daddy,  dear,  you  never 
could  have  been  like  mother;  you're  so  wonderfully 
broad-minded  about  everything." 

"Am  I,  baby  girl?"  Hugh  smiled.  "Perhaps  I 
appear  that  way  to  you,  because  as  yet  there  has 
been  nothing  to  warrant  my  acting  otherwise." 

"That's  just  it.  The  things  that  you  consider 
perfectly  all  right,  are  the  very  ones  that  meet  with 
mother's  disapproval.  I  wonder  how  she  will  act 
when  the  time  arrives  for  me  to  choose  a  husband?" 
She  seemed  to  ponder  aloud,  but  in  reality  feeling 
her  way  cautiously. 

"Why  wonder  about  anything  as  distant  as  that?" 

"Surely,  you  don't  wish  me  to  be  an  old  maid?" 
Elinor  demanded  indignantly. 

"An  old  maid,"  Hugh  laughed  heartily.  "You 
are  only  a  baby,  and  just  beginning  to  see  the  world." 

"I'm  past  eighteen — please  remember  that, 
and " 

Her  father  turned  her  face  upward  to  look  at  her 
quizzically. 

"Who  is  the  man,  Elinor?"  Hugh  asked  playfully. 

"What — what  do  you  mean,  Daddy?"  She  could 
not  quite  hide  a  feeling  of  alarm,  but  her  fears  were 
calmed  as  her  father  queried:  "Young  Bronlee?" 


"How  ridiculous!"  she  exclaimed  impatiently. 
"Does  the  fact  of  my  having  expressed  an  opinion, 
necessitate  there  being  anyone  in  particular?  And 
why  should  you  immediately  suggest  Paul  Bronlee? 
No,"  and  she  shook  her  head  sagely,  "I'm  sorry  to 
disappoint  you,  Dad,  but  I  shall  never  marry  Paul 
Bronlee  even  if  he  is  one  of  'the'  Bronlees  and  so 
desirable  in  your  own  and  mother's  eyes.  He  bores 
me  to  death.  In  a  year's  time,  I  should  be  obliged 
to  divorce  him.  But  why  discuss  anything  so  silly? 
Heie  we  are  home  at  last  and  I'm  dead  tired." 

Her  father  walked  with  her  to  the  foot  of  the 
stairs  and  kissed  her  gently. 

"Hurry  up  into  slumber-land;  I'm  going  to  have 
another  cigar.  We  can  talk  about  your  marriage 
another  time.  I  don't  want  to  think  of  losing  my 
girl  yet,  nor  must  she  think  of  leaving.  Good-night, 
dear." 

"Good-night,  Dad,"  she  replied  as  she  returned 
his  caress  perfunctorily,  anxious  to  hurry  away,  to 
be  alone. 

Elinor  Benton  closed  her  door  softly,  though  her 
impulse  was  to  slam  it.  She  flung  her  opera  coat 
at  a  couch  across  the  room  and  kicked  a  silver 
slipper  into  another.  She  stamped  the  still  shod 
foot. 

"Paul  Bronlee,  indeed!"  she  muttered. 

She  crossed  over  to  her  escritoire  and  from  a 
locked  drawer  took  out  an  autographed  photograph 
of  Templeton  Druid.  Her  heart  leapt  as  she  gazed 
at  it.  Ah,  there  was  a  man!  And  he  loved  her! 
She  held  the  pictured  likeness  to  her  lips,  then  held 
it  at  arm's  length  as  she  half  whispered: 

"And  they  would  talk  to  me  about  Paul  Bronlee 
when  I  have  you,  dear  heart!  But  never  fear — I'll 
show  them  I  have  a  mind  of  my  own.  Looks  as  if  I 
was  going  to  have  trouble  with  dad,  too,  but  we'll 


[THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       in 

both  show  them.    Marry  first  and  tell  them  after — 
that's  the  idea." 

Tenderly  as  though  the  pictured  likeness  were  a 
living  entity,  she  placed  it  back  in  its  drawer  which 
she  carefully  locked.  Then  she  turned  to  ring  for 
her  maid.  When  Marie's  soft  knock  came  on  the 
door,  Elinor  Benton  was  lounging  in  a  deep  easy 
chair,  her  fair  head  nodding,  but  her  thoughts  wide 
awake,  her  mind  filled  with  the  image  of  one  man. 

In  his  favorite  nook  in  the  library,  Hugh  Benton 
was  doing  some  thinking  on  his  own  account.  What 
Elinor  had  said  about  an  eventual  marriage  had 
disturbed  him  a  little,  but  he  passed  it  over  hurriedly 
as  a  thing  of  the  future.  His  great  ambition  was 
for  his  daughter  to  make  a  good  marriage, — in 
which  respect  he  was  still  like  his  wife,  but  to-night 
any  future  marriage  of  Elinor's  was  of  minor  con- 
sideration. It  was  himself,  what  he  was  to  do  with 
his  own  life  that  had  suddenly  risen  to  stare  him 
in  the  face.  He  felt  that  he  was  facing  some  sort 
of  crisis,  vague,  it  was  true,  but  nevertheless  immi- 
nent. He  had  paced  the  floor  for  a  long  time,  till 
his  subconscious  mind  had  taken  in  every  detail  of 
the  thick  rug  before  he  realized  he  was  tired.  He 
sank  into  his  deep  leather  chair  and  sat  facing  the 
fire  which,  even  in  summer,  was  kept  lighted  here 
in  the  .evenings.  He  must  face  squarely  the  thing 
that  was  worrying  him — be  honest  with  himself,  at 
least.  His  lighted  cigar  fell  into  ash  as  he  moodily 
stared  before  him,  recalling  the  past,  dreaming  of 
what  the  future  might  be,  if  only 

He  had  been  married  to  Marjorie  for  twenty-one 
years;  now,  the  plain  fact  of  the  matter  was  he  had 
fallen  in  love  with  another  woman  at  first  sight, 
precisely  as  a  boy  of  twenty  might  have  done.  At 
first  he  severely  criticised  his  own  weakness,  and 
then,  suddenly  and  furiously,  he  blamed  his  wife  for 


ii2   THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

it  all.  She  alone  was  responsible  for  the  indifference 
existing  between  them.  Their  lives  together  under 
the  same  roof  had  been  a  mockery  for  the  past  few 
years.  Had  an  atmosphere  of  congeniality  and 
warmth  prevailed  in  his  home,  he  would  not  have 
been  so  susceptible  to  the  charms  of  a  beautiful  and 
fascinating  woman.  Only  a  few  weeks  before  he  had 
threatened  Marjorie  that  should  the  opportunity 
present  itself,  he  would  grasp  elsewhere  the  happi- 
ness he  could  not  obtain  in  his  own  home,  little 
dreaming  at  that  time  how  soon  he  would  lose  his 
head. 

Dawn  showed  grayly  through  the  half-drawn  cur- 
tains. Completely  worn  out,  he  rose  and  went  slowly 
up  the  stairs  to  his  room,  his  perplexing  problem 
still  unsolved.  It  had  left  him  utterly  at  sea.  Well, 
matters  would  have  to  readjust  themselves  as  best 
they  could.  He  was  in  the  hands  of  Fate,  and  would 
drift  wherever  the  tide  carried  him.  He  realized, 
with  just  one  slight  pang  of  a  resisting  conscience 
that  he  did  not  feel  the  shame  he  should.  The  al- 
luring prospects  of  an  exciting  adventure  only 
caused  him  to  experience  a  sensation  of  keen  rebel- 
lion and  joyous  anticipation.  So  had  actually 
changed  the  Hugh  Benton  of  the  Atwood  days  of 
sixteen  years  before. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THAT  all  Hugh  Benton's  problems  were  not 
concerned  with  his  own  troublesome  heart 
where  the  fair  Geraldine  DeLacy  was  con- 
cerned, or  with  his  daughter  whose  willfulness  he 
feared  might  lead  her  into  a  marriage  less  desirable 
than  the  one  he  hoped  for  with  Paul  Bronlee,  came 
home  to  him  in  a  cataclysmic  rush  a  few  days  later 
when  Howard,  his  son,  appeared  on  the  immediate 
horizon.  Howard  had  been  so  long  at  college  that 
Hugh  had  got  into  the  habit  of  thinking  of  him  as 
merely  a  financial  annoyance,  the  personal  equation 
of  which  was  luckily  distant.  There  was  not  much 
affection  between  the  two.  There  could  not  have 
been,  since  Hugh  Benton  had  seen  his  son  so  rarely 
during  those  portions  of  his  vacation  the  young  man 
chose  to  spend  in  his  home.  But  Hugh  Benton 
never  forgot  his  fatherly  duties.  He  remembered 
that  Howard  was  his  son.  And  how,  indeed,  was 
he  to  forget  it  after  that  blithe  and  dashing  young 
man  had  been  home  from  college  for  a  few  weeks. 

It  was  shortly  after  the  Thurston  dance  that 
Howard  had  been  graduated.  It  had  been  rather  as 
much  of  a  surprise  to  Howard  that  this  had  been  ac- 
complished as  it  had  to  anyone  else — nevertheless, 
it  had  been  done.  He  had  flunked  in  everything 
the  beginning  of  the  term,  but  mysteriously  he  had 
managed  to  get  through  by  an  amazingly  close 
margin. 

Marjorie  was  very  proud  of  her  son.  Mother- 
like,  she  overlooked  all  of  his  faults — saw  him  only 

113 


i  H       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

through  eyes  of  love,  and  did  not  attempt  to  look 
beneath  the  surface.  To  his  father,  though,  Howard 
was  not  a  young  god.  He  saw  him  as  he  was: 
egotistical,  reckless,  a  selfish  young  spendthrift. 

Hugh  called  him  into  the  library  one  evening  after 
he  had  had  time  to  consider  the  young  man's  case. 

"I  want  to  have  a  little  talk  with  you,  Howard," 
he  told  his  son  with  a  firmness  that  presaged  no 
casual  talk. 

"All  right,  Dad,  see  that  it  is  a  little  talk,  as  I 
have  a  date  in  town."  Howard  dropped  lazily  on 
the  davenport,  extracted  a  cigarette  from  his  new 
platinum  case  and  blew  rings  of  smoke  toward  the 
ceiling. 

The  parent  eyed  his  offspring  critically.  He  was 
considering  him  from  all  angles.  Handsome 
enough,  he  thought,  and  there  was  self-satisfaction 
in  his  recognition  of  his  own  features  in  those  of 
his  sprawling  son.  But  another  thought  came  to 
drive  away  pleasure  in  any  personal  appearance. 

"And  insolent,  too,"  was  the  further  thought,  and 
an  ominous  frown  accompanied  the  mental  com- 
ment. But  when  he  spoke  aloud,  it  was  slowly  and 
with  the  dignity  he  always  used  when  addressing 
Howard.  He  indicated  the  sprawling  attitude. 

"I  prefer  to  have  you  sit  up  while  I  talk,"  he  said 
with  unmistakable  reproof,  "and  as  for  your — er — • 
date — it  will  have  to  wait." 

"I  say — "  Howard  began,  but  as  he  caught  sight 
of  his  father's  stern  countenance,  he  slowly  straight- 
ened out  of  his  reclining  position,  and  sat  waiting. 

"Howard,"  Hugh  went  directly  to  the  point,  "I 
haven't  been  at  all  satisfied  with  your  conduct  during 
your  three  years  at  college " 

"Why,  what's  the  matter?"  Howard's  tone  con- 
veyed genuine  surprise.  "Didn't  I  graduate?" 

"You  did.     God  only  knows  how.    Neither  Pro- 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       115 

fessor  Anderson  nor  I  have  been  able  to  fathom  it." 

Howard  flushed  angrily:  "Maybe  you  think  I 
cheated?" 

"I  am  so  glad  that  you're  through  I  don't  believe 
I  care  how  you  managed  it.  You  know  without  my 
having  to  tell  you  how  you  wasted  your  time;  but 
I  didn't  call  you  in  here  to  discuss  past  performances 
or  lecture  you.  I  merely  want  to  know  what  you 
intend  doing  now  that  you  are  a  college  graduate 
and  have  fully  satisfied  your  mother's  ambitions?'* 
Hugh  himself  did  not  realize  the  tinge  of  bitterness 
in  his  voice. 

"Doing?    Just  what  do  you  mean  by  that,  Dad?" 

"Do  you  care  to  come  into  the  office  with  me," 
Hugh  answered,  "or  would  you  rather  go  to  work 
for  one  of  my  friends?" 

"Work!"  Howard  sat  up  like  a  shot.  Amaze- 
ment rang  in  his  voice.  "Surely,  Dad,  you  don't 
expect  me  to  work!" 

"Well,  what  do  you  expect  to  do,  now  that  you 
can't  go  to  school  any  longer?"  Hugh  remembered 
his  cherished  dignity  and  sought  to  control  himself, 
but  with  ill  success. 

"Why,  you  have  so  much  money,  Dad,  I  thought 
I'd  just  be  a — a  gentleman." 

Hugh  turned  fiercely.  His  anger  had  leapt 
bounds.  "A  gentleman?"  he  sneered.  "You  mean, 
you  want  to  be  a  good-for-nothing  idler.  Well,  I 
won't  stand  for  it — do  you  hear — I  won't  stand  for 
it!" 

Howard  languidly  lighted  a  fresh  smoke.  "Any 
need  to  get  so  excited?" 

All  semblance  of  dignity  gone  by  this  goading  of 
his  nonchalant,  indifferent  heir,  Hugh  Benton  tow- 
ered over  him,  an  apoplectic  flush  on  his  usually  calm 
face. 

"Yes!"  he  shouted.     "Yes!     To  hear  you  talk 


u6       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

of  being  a  'gentleman' — would  you  infer  that  I  am 
not  one?  Have  I  been  too  good  to  work?  To  hand 
out  money  to  you  hand  over  fist  to  gratify  your 
mother's  desire  for  you  to  be  college-bred?  And 
now  what  do  I  get!  You  sit  there  calmly  and  an- 
nounce your  intention  of  being  a  'gentleman  P  You, 
who  have  cost  a  small  fortune  to  put  through  col- 
lege, to  say  nothing  of  the  escapades  I've  had  to 
get  you  out  of " 

Hugh's  explosion  ended  in  a  splutter.  Howard 
coolly  blew  another  exact  smoke  ring  into  the  air. 
He  almost  yawned  in  his  intense  boredom  as  he 
answered: 

"Haven't  I  heard  you  say,  Dad,  that  there  is  no 
use  in  going  over  past  performances?" 

"What  else  is  there  to  do  when  you  propose  going 
on  the  same  way?"  Hugh  calmed  himself  to  better 
his  argument.  "I  can't  help  saying,  too,  that  your 
lack  of  respect  and  air  of  impertinence  surprise  me," 
he  added  coldly. 

"I  didn't  mean  to  be  impertinent,  Dad,  honestly  I 
didn't — only  this  role  of  the  stern  parent  is  so  for- 
eign and  unbecoming  to  you,  that  it  strikes  me  as 
a  sort  of  joke.  You've  always  been  such  a  good 
fellow,  and  regular  pal.  However,  I'll  come  into 
the  office  with  you,  if  you  wish,"  he  added  conde- 
scendingly. 

"Very  well,  report  at  nine  o'clock  Monday 
morning — I'll  have  Bryson  assign  some  work  to 
you."  And  it  was  Hugh  who  turned  away  abruptly, 
ending  the  argument. 

"I'll  be  there,"  Howard  assured,  magnanimously. 
At  the  door,  he  turned  suddenly:  "Say,  Dad,  how 
about  the  roadster  you  promised  me  when  I  was 
through  college.  Can  I  have  it?" 

"Yes,"  Hugh  answered  listlessly.  "Order  it 
whenever  you  please." 


;ii7 

"Thanks,  Dad,  you're  great!"  And  Howard  ran 
upstairs,  whistling  the  air  of  a  popular  song. 

For  a  few  moments  Hugh  paced  about  the  room; 
then,  coming  to  a  sudden  standstill,  he  threw  back 
his  head  and  laughed  bitterly.  "What  is  the  use?" 
he  murmured.  "If  I  attempt  to  reason  with  my 
children,  they  become  insufferably  insolent,  or  else 
they  endeavor  to  win  me  over  with  subtle  flattery." 

The  jangle  of  the  telephone  bell  on  his  desk 
startled  him. 

"Is  this  Mr.  Benton?"  a  sweetly  low  voice  came 
over  the  wire. 

"Yes." 

"This  is  Geraldine  DeLacy,  Mr.  Benton." 

"How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  DeLacy,"  he  replied,  but 
he  was  not  unconscious  of  the  quickening  of  his 
heart. 

"I  fear  you  have  forgotten  me.  Don't  you  re- 
member promising  to  arrange  for  me  to  call  at  your 
office?" 

"Forgotten  you,  Mrs.  DeLacy!  You  suggest  an 
impossibility.  On  the  contrary  I've  been  waiting 
to  hear  from  you.  Do  you  happen  to  be  at  leisure 
to-morrow?" 

"Why  yes — I — "  she  began,  but  in  his  masterful 
way  Hugh  Benton  took  matters  in  his  own  hands. 

"Well,  then,  suppose  we  say  eleven-thirty,  at  my 
office,  and  after  our  little  business  conference,  per- 
haps you  will  do  me  the  honor  to  lunch  with  me?" 

"I  shall  be  delighted." 

"Thank  you,"  he  murmured,  as  he  hung  up  the 
receiver,  Geraldine's  musical  "good-by"  singing 
in  his  ears. 

When  Hugh  entered  the  breakfast  room  the  next 
morning,  he  found  all  the  members  of  his  family 
at  the  table.  This  was  an  occurrence  so  unusual  as 
to  cause  surprise.  Of  late  years  while  the  children 


n8       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

were  away  at  school,  Marjorie  and  Hugh  break- 
fasted together  on  an  average  of  about  once  a  month. 
Since  Elinor's  return,  she  had  ordered  her  tray  sent 
up  at  least  five  mornings  out  of  seven,  and  Howard 
had  not  shown  himself  one  morning  in  the  few  days 
that  he  had  been  home.  Therefore,  Hugh's  inquir- 
ing glance  was  to  be  expected. 

"Good  morning,"  he  said,  as  he  pulled  out  his 
watch.  It  was  just  9 130.  "What  a  lot  of  early 
birds  F1 

Marjorie  laid  aside  the  letter  she  was  reading 
as  she  answered:  "Good  morning,  Hugh.  I  don't 
believe  I  am  any  earlier  than  usual.  I  breakfast 
every  morning  regularly  at  9:15." 

"I  wasn't  referring  to  you,  Marjorie,"  Hugh 
laughed  good-naturedly.  "I  know  your  life  is  one 
long  martyrdom  of  punctuality." 

"Your  sarcasm  isn't  especially  appreciated, 
Hugh."  Marjorie  flushed  deeply,  as  she  resumed 
the  reading  of  her  mail. 

"I  hadn't  the  slightest  intention  of  being  sarcastic, 
my  dear  Marjorie,"  he  replied,  seating  himself  at 
the  table  and  reaching  for  his  folded  paper,  "but 
as  usual,  you  prefer  to  misconstrue  my  meaning." 

"Good  morning,  Dad,"  Elinor  interrupted,  anx- 
ious to  prevent  a  needless  argument.  "You're  look- 
ing fine,  and  you're  all  dressed  up.  Is  that  a  new 
suit?" 

"Practically  new.  I've  ha'd  it  about  a  month,  but 
this  is  the  first  time  I've  worn  it." 

"Well,  it  is  vastly  becoming,  and  your  shirt  and 
tie  harmonize  beautifully." 

"Maybe  Dad  has  a  date,"  Howard  interposed 
mischievously. 

"Howard,  flippancy  is  distasteful  to  me,"  Mar- 
jorie again  looked  up  from  her  letter  to  reprove 
coldly. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       119 

"Why  all  this  'discussion?"  Hugh  demanded.  "I 
happen  to  wear  a  new  suit,  a  thing  I  have  done  in- 
numerable times  without  causing  the  slightest  com- 
ment, and  for  some  unknown  reason  the  family  pro- 
ceed to  hold  a  conference  terminating  in  a  general 
wrangle." 

"I'm  sure  I  meant  it  all  right,  Dad.  I  don't  see 
why  Howard  had  to  interfere — I  wish  he'd  mind 
his  own  business,"  Elinor  remarked  peevishly. 

"Oh,  is  that  so?"  Howard  returned.  "You  think 
you're  mighty  clever,  don't  you?  I've  as  much  right 
to  speak  as  you  have,  and  I'll  tell  you  one " 

"Children — children!"  Marjorie  intervened. 

"Well  this  a  pleasant  little  party,"  Hugh  exploded, 
throwing  down  his  paper  in  disgust.  "If  I  had 
dreamt  that  things  were  going  to  be  so  agreeable, 
I'd  have  had  my  breakfast  in  town.  You  must  have 
all  stepped  out  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  bed.  It 
evidently  doesn't  agree  with  you  to  rise  so  early. 
Anyway,  what  happens  to  be  the  occasion?" 

"I'm  anxious  to  get  into  town  to  order  my  road- 
ster," Howard  replied.  "Will  you  give  me  a  lift, 
as  far  as  the  Circle,  Dad?" 

Hugh  nodded  absent-mindedly.  "And  you,  Eli- 
nor?" he  asked. 

"Oh,  I  have  an  early  appointment — one  of  the 
girls  I  knew  at  Miss  Grayson's  is  visiting  some 
friends  in  New  York,  and  I  am  going  to  spend  the 
day  with  her." 

"Who  is  she?"  Marjorie  inquired,  coldly  con- 
cerned. She  had  not  yet  accustomed  herself  to 
Elinor's  doing  as  she  pleased  without  consulting  her. 

"You  don't  know  her,  mother,  so  there  wouldn't 
be  any  use  in  my  telling  you."  Elinor  tossed  her 
head  defiantly. 

"Just  the  same,"  Marjorie  began,  "I  want  to 
know." 


120       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

Hugh  arose  hastily.  "Come  on,  Howard,  if  you 
want  to  ride  into  town  with  me,"  he  called.  It  was 
plain  he  was  anxious  to  escape  from  listening  to  one 
of  Marjorie's  catechisms. 

"Righto,  Dad,"  answered  the  boy.  "Try  to  im- 
prove your  disposition,  Sis,"  he  called  back  over  his 
shoulder.  "I'm  going  to  get  a  swell  roadster,  and 
you  may  want  to  ride  with  me." 

"Howard,"  Hugh  began,  as  soon  as  they  were 
seated  in  the  car,  and  headed  for  town,  "how  is  it 
that  you  and  Elinor  can't  be  together  half  an  hour 
without  quarreling?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  Howard  sulked.  "She  al- 
ways starts  things." 

"You  should  remember  that  she  is  a  woman,  and 
women  are  nearly  always  difficult  enigmas,"  Hugh 
sighed  rather  deeply. 

"You  must  be  right,  Dad,"  Howard's  voice  was 
full  of  sympathy.  "I  know  you're  speaking  from 
experience." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

To  which  Howard  replied,  innocently  enough: 
"Why  Elinor  and  I  were  discussing  you  the  other 
evening,  and  we  agreed  that  you  must  have  a  pretty 
tough  time  of  it,  trying  to  hit  it  off  with  mother." 

Hugh  fidgeted  uneasily.  "I  don't  see  what  could 
have  given  you  that  impression,"  he  said. 

"Oh  everything.  You're  such  a  real  sport,  Dad, 
and  mother  is,"  Howard  waxed  confidential,  "so 
very " 

"Stopj"  Hugh  commanded.  "Your  attempting 
to  criticise  your  mother  to  me  is  very  bad  taste, 
Howard.  I  must  refuse  to  listen  to  you." 

"All  right,  Dad.  Here's  where  I  get  out!"  He 
called  to ^  the  chauffeur  to  stop.  "But,"  and  there 
was  unmistakable  meaning  in  the  eyes  of  the  son, 
"I'm  all  for  you,  and  you  know  it." 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       [121: 

Hugh  leaned  back  and  closed  his  eyes  as  his  car 
whirled  toward  his  office. 

"Even  my  children  pity  me,"  he  meditated  re- 
sentfully. "What  a  mess  Marjorie  and  I  have  made 
of  things!"  But  it  was  a  commentary  on  the 
changed  Hugh  Benton  that  only  for  one  solitary 
moment  did  he  blame  himself.  Surely,  he  reflected 
morosely,  Marjorie  was  anything  but  a  successful 
wife  or  mother. 

At  precisely  1 1 130  his  clerk  announced  Mrs.  De- 
Lacy.  She  swept  into  the  room  gracefully,  and  ex- 
tended her  hand.  "Good  morning,"  she  said 
brightly.  "I  think  you  will  find  me  exactly  on  time." 

Hugh  glanced  at  the  clock.  "To  the  minute,"  he 
answered,  taking  the  offered  hand.  "You  are  one 
of  earth's  rarities — a  punctual  woman." 

"You  would  consider  me  very  unappreciative  if  I 
kept  you  waiting,"  she  smiled,  as  she  sank  languidly 
into  the  easy  chair  which  Hugh  had  drawn  up  for 
her. 

Sitting  opposite  her,  his  arms  folded  across  his 
chest,  Hugh  stared  at  her  approvingly.  She  seemed 
neither  to  notice  nor  resent  the  scrutiny  as  she  chat- 
tered on  for  a  few  moments  about  commonplaces. 
She  was  bewitchingly  charming  to-day,  he  thought. 
Her  dress,  a  symphony  in  brown  from  head  to  foot, 
was  flattering  in  the  extreme. 

With  reluctance,  the  man  forced  himself  to  recall 
that  Mrs.  DeLacy's  visit  was  on  business.  There; 
was  so  much  more  he  would  rather  talk  to  her  about. 
But  then  he  remembered  that  it  would  be  to  her 
advantage — that  it  was  in  his  power  to  aid  her.  He 
pulled  a  pad  of  paper  toward  him  and  dipped  his 
pen  into  the  wrought  bronze  ink-well  on  his  shining 
desk. 

"Let  us  get  down  to  business,"  he  said  abruptly. 


"Tell  me  just  How  much  money  you  have,  how  it  is 
invested,  and  all  the  particulars." 

"I  have  so  little,  I'm  almost  ashamed  to  mention 
it.  It's  so  good  of  you  to  bother  with  me  at  all," 
she  replied.  She  reached  into  her  bag,  extracted  a 
number  of  papers  and  placed  them  upon  his  desk. 

In  short  order  he  had  made  a  note  of  everything. 
Placing  the  memorandum  in  his  desk's  drawer,  he 
said  bluntly:  "Leave  it  all  to  me,  my  dear  Mrs. 
DeLacy.  It  won't  take  long  to  double  or  triple  your 
money  for  you." 

"How  powerful  you  are,"  she  murmured  admir- 
ingly, "and  how  wonderful  to  have  found  such  a 
friend!" 

"Thank  you."  He  found  himself  blushing.  "And 
now,  where  shall  we  go  for  luncheon?" 

"I  don't  know,"  Geraldine  stammered  confusedly. 
"We  must  be  discreet — people  are  so  unkind — 
especially  to  a  widow.  Can't  you  suggest  some  place 
where  we  wouldn't  be  apt  to  meet  anyone  who 
knows  us?" 

"If  you  don't  object  to  a  little  ride,  I  think  I  know 
the  very  place,"  was  the  prompt  reply.  "It  is  an 
inn  on  the  road  to  Jamaica.  I  have  stopped  there 
on  my  way  to  the  races." 

"Splendid,"  she  enthused.  "The  ride  will  give  us 
an  appetite,  and  I  adore  inns." 

"You  had  better  go  down  ahead  of  me,"  he  said. 
"I  will  join  you  in  a  few  moments  after  I  give  my 
clerk  some  instructions  for  the  afternoon.  We  will 
go  out  in  a  taxi — my  chauffeur — you  know " 

"I  understand,"  she  saved  him  from  further  em- 
barrassment. "You  are  more  than  considerate,  and 
I  appreciate  your  kind  protection.  I'll  wait  below." 

But  Hugh  Benton  could  not  see  the  exultation  in 
her  eyes,  nor  know  her  no  less  exultant  thoughts  as 
she  rode  down  in  the  elevator. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       123 

At  Fifth  Avenue  and  Forty-second  Street,  they 
were  halted  by  congested  traffic. 

Fate,  or  the  imp  that  has  so  much  joy  in  arrang- 
ing just  such  contretemps  must  have  laughed  with 
glee  that  day  when  Marjorie  Benton  had  felt  the 
urge  to  go  into  town  shopping.  And  it  was  that 
same  imp  who  must  have  led  her  out  onto  the  side- 
walk to  her  waiting  limousine  just  at  the  moment 
that  a  taxi  halted  in  front  of  her, — and  in  that  taxi 
were  Geraldine  DeLacy  and  Hugh  Benton — a  differ- 
ent Hugh  than  she  had  known  in  a  long  time  herself, 
a  Hugh  so  raptly  attentive  to  his  handsome  com- 
panion, so  joyously  laughing  at  her  witty  sallies,  so 
lighthearted  that  his  attention  did  not  swerve  for 
one  single  moment  to  the  pathetic  figure  on  the  side- 
walk, an  unattractive  figure  at  best  in  her  gray  gown 
of  severe  cut. 

Marjorie  Benton's  knees  almost  gave  way  under 
her  at  the  sight.  It  was  only  her  indomitable  will 
power  that  helped  her  survive  the  shock.  Realizing 
at  once  that  they  had  not  seen  her,  a  thing  for  which 
she  was  truly  grateful,  she  slipped  back  into  the 
entrance  of  the  store  and  from  that  concealed  posi- 
tion, gazed  with  uncontrollable  fascination  at  the 
two  before  her.  Her  eyes  were  blinded  with  tears 
she  could  not  force  back,  but  her  cheeks  burned  with 
indignation. 

The  traffic  officer  flashed  the  signal  and  the  taxi 
vanished  from  sight.  Still  Marjorie  remained 
rooted  to  the  spot.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  through 
all  the  years  of  estrangement,  she  had  never  once 
associated  Hugh  with  deception  of  any  kind.  Some- 
how, she  had  always  believed  he  would  remain  the 
gentleman  she  had  married. 

Struggling  to  regain  her  composure,  she  sum- 
moned her  car  to  be  driven  home.  Lowering  the 
shades,  she  sat  wearily  down  upon  the  luxuriously 


124       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

upholstered  seat.  The  mere  rocking  of  the  car 
caused  her  to  place  her  hands  to  her  wildly  throb- 
bing temples.  A  hot  uprush  of  jealousy  not  un- 
mingled  with  scorn  overwhelmed  her.  How  was 
she  to  bear  it,  was  the  one  thought  that  run  fran- 
tically through  her  head.  An  overburdening  sense 
of  inexpressible  bitterness  against  the  woman  began 
to  manifest  itself  within  her.  Could  the  sensation 
of  dislike  and  mistrust  with  which  she  always  en- 
countered Geraldine  DeLacy  have  been  a  presenti- 
ment? The  all-important  question  was:  What 
should  she  do?  If  she  went  to  him  and  told  him 
what  she  had  seen,  he  would  probably  face  her 
calmly  and  say:  "I  warned  you,  Marjorie,  that  I 
should  seek  my  happiness  wherever  it  presented  it- 
self." She  could  not  leave  him.  That  would  leave 
an  indelible  stain  upon  Elinor  and  Howard  just  as 
they  were  being  launched  forth  into  the  sea  of  aris- 
tocracy. There  was  under  the  circumstances  only 
one  thing  left  for  her  to  do,  and  that  was  willfully  to 
close  her  eyes  and  stoically  endure  this,  and  presum- 
ably more  insults  to  follow.  It  would  not  be  so  very 
difficult  for  her  to  disguise  her  feelings.  She  and 
Hugh  had  arrived  at  the  point  in  their  lives  where 
they  merely  exchanged  conventional  civilities. 

By  the  time  the  car  reached  home,  she  had  her 
emotions  under  control.  Going  directly  to  her  own 
room,  she  removed  her  wraps  and  methodically  put 
everything  where  it  belonged  in  her  usual  manner, 
hoping  thereby  to  regain  composure  sufficient  to 
enable  her  calmly  to  review  the  situation  and  reach 
a  more  logical  decision. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  she  calmly 
walked  to  the  telephone,  called  the  Thurston  home 
and  asked  to  speak  with  Mrs.  DeLacy. 

"Yes,  this  is  Mrs.  DeLacy,"  Geraldine  drawled. 
"Who  is  this,  please?" 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       125 

"Mrs.  DeLacy,"  Marjorie  answered,  her  voice 
'distinct  and  serene,  while  her  heart  throbbed,  "this 
is  Mrs.  Benton.  I  have  a  request  to  make  of  you." 

"Why — Mrs.  Benton,"  Geraldine  with_  difficulty 
disguised  her  surprise.  It  was  the  first  time  Mrs. 
Benton  had  deigned  to  telephone  her.  "What  can  I 
do  for  you?" 

"Will  you  call  to  see  me  to-morrow,  and  give  me 
a  few  minutes  of  your  time.  There  is  something  I 
wish  to  discuss  with  you.  I  would  come  to  you  only 
the  matter  is  quite  confidential,  and  I  think  we  shall 
be  freer  from  interruption  here." 

"You  fill  me  with  curiosity,  Mrs.  Benton.  I  shall 
be  glad  to  come,  only  to-morrow  happens  to  be  a 
very  busy  day  for  me.  As  long  as  it  is  to  be  a  short 
interview,  will  it  be  convenient  for  you  to  see  me  at 
six  o'clock,  on  my  way  home  from  a  five  o'clock  tea 
at  the  Woodsons?" 

"That  will  be  all  right.  I  shall  expect  you  at 
six  to-morrow.  Good-by — and — thank  you,"  Mar- 
jorie added  reluctantly. 

Geraldine  hung  up  the  receiver  in  a  marked  state 
of  disconcertion.  What  in  the  world  could  Marjorie 
Benton  wish  to  see  her  about?  She  had  never  tele- 
phoned to  her  before.  In  fact,  she  had  barely 
treated  her  with  formal  civility  when  they  happened 
to  meet.  She  couldn't  understand  why  she  should 
be  at  all  perturbed  unless  perhaps  it  was  a  twinge 
of  conscience.  At  all  events  she  would  put  it  from 
her  until  to-morrow.  No  doubt  it  was  something 
concerning  Elinor — she  knew  that  Marjorie  strongly 
disapproved  of  their  intimacy.  Well,  she 

The  dinner  gong  interrupted  any  further  solilo- 
quy. She  hurried  down  to  the  dining  room.  The 
Thurstons  were  having  guests  for  dinner,  one  of 
whom  she  was  most  desirous  of  knowing,  a 
wealthy,  distinguished  bachelor.  True,  she  had  had 


126       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

a  remarkably  interesting  start  with  Hugh  Benton, 
but  after  all,  he  was  married,  so  it  could  do  no  harm 
to  exert  her  affability  in  Mr.  Tilmar's  direction. 
One  could  never  tell  just  what  might  happen.  She 
could  not  afford  to  allow  a  single  opportunity  to 
escape  her. 

Marjorie  Benton  was  satisfied.  She  had  carefully 
debated  all  afternoon,  and  had  finally  concluded  that 
her  only  course  lay  in  facing  Geraldine  DeLacy.  She 
would  be  different  from  other  women  and  come 
out  into  the  open.  Perhaps  she  could  reach  the 
DeLacy  woman's  sense  of  honor.  At  all  events,  she 
would  not  permit  her  to  imagine  that  she  was  a  poor, 
deceived  wife,  the  victim  of  a  cheap  and  tawdry  tri- 
angle. Those  things  were  all  very  well  on  the  stage 
— hut  in  real  life— -Well,  she  would  handle  the  situa- 
tion differently. 

All  the  next  day,  she  rehearsed  in  her  mind  just 
what  she  would  say,  and  at  a  few  minutes  past  six, 
when  Griggs  announced  Mrs.  DeLacy  she  was 
calmly  waiting  for  her. 

Geraldine  entered  apologetically:  "Am  I  a  few 
minutes  late,  Mrs.  Benton?  My  dressmaker  de- 
tained me  this  afternoon,  and  consequently  I  was 
tardy  with  all  my  engagements." 

"Thank  you  for  coming,  Mrs.  DeLacy."  Marjorie 
motioned  to  her  to  be  seated.  "I  should  have  come 
to  you,  but  as  I  told  you,  when  I  telephoned,  I 
thought  it  would  be  easier  to  arrange  a  private  in- 
terview here." 

"How  interesting.  Sounds  as  if  it  were  to  be 
quite  confidential."  Geraldine  sank  languidly  into 
a  comfortable  chair  and  extracted  a  cigarette  from 
her  case.  "Have  one?  Oh — I  forgot — you  never 
indulge.  No  objections  to  my  having  a  puff  or  two, 
I  hope?  It  rests  my  nerves  so — after  I've  been 
rushing  about." 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       [127 

Marjorle  merely  nodded.  The  insolence  of  the 
woman  was  almost  unbearable. 

"Well,  now,  Mrs.  Benton,  what  is  this  secret? 
I  am  fairly  consumed  with  curiosity.  Is  it  about 
Elinor?  I  hope  the  dear  child  has  not  been, — well 
— let  us  say — indiscreet?" 

"I  am  perfectly  capable  of  managing  my  daughter 
myself,  Mrs.  DeLacy — and  I  would  hardly  send  for 
you  to  advise  me  concerning  her,"  Marjorie  an- 
swered freezingly. 

"Why  is  it,  Mrs.  Benton,  that  you  dislike  me  so?" 
Geraldine  faced  her  squarely.  "From  the  moment 
of  our  first  meeting,  you  have  shown  me  plainly  just 
how  you  feel  toward  me." 

"You're  right,"  Marjorie  realized  that  without 
undue  maneuvering,  the  cards  were  on  the  table,  "I 
never  liked  you — you  will  pardon  me  for  having  to 
say  this  in  my  own  house — indeed,  I  mistrusted  and 
disliked  you,  but  I  never  feared  you,  until  yesterday 
— because  I  have  always  had  faith  in  my  husband." 

"Your  husband?" 

"I  was  shopping  on  the  avenue  yesterday,  and  I 
saw  you  and  my  husband  in  a  cab.  I  immediately 
hailed  another  and — followed  you!"  Marjorie  felt 
the  blood  mounting  to  her  cheeks,  and  she  turned  her 
head  in  order  to  conceal  her  embarrassment  as  she 
brought  this  bit  of  strategy  into  play.  "So  you  see 
there  isn't  any  use  for  you  to  deny  it." 

"So  that's  it."  Geraldine  DeLacy  threw  away  her 
cigarette  and  faced  her  accuser  defiantly.  "Well, 
there  isn't  anything  for  me  to  deny.  I  called  at  Mr. 
Benton's  office  on  business.  He  is  a  broker  and  at- 
tending to  some  of  my  affairs — surely  I  have  a  right 
to  employ  his  services.  It  happened  to  be  lunch  time 
and  he  invited  me  to  go  with  him.  I  must  confess 
that  I  am  surprised  to  think  that  the  honorable  Mrs. 
Benton  has  stooped  to  spying." 


'128       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

Marjorie  was  struggling  for  calmness. 

"I'd  do  more  than  that,  Mrs.  DeLacy,"  she  said, 
with  feverish  meaning.  "I'd  fight  to  the  bitter  end 
for  the  man  I  love." 

"You  love?"  Geraldine's  laugh  ended  in  a  sneer. 
"Why,  you  don't  know  what  love  means — you,  with 
your  haughty  air  of  superiority — your  repellent  cold- 
ness. What  can  you  mean  to  any  man — particularly 
a  man  like  Hugh  Benton?" 

Marjorie  faced  her  proudly:  "Something  that  no 
other  woman  in  the  world  means — I  am  the  mother 
of  his  children." 

Geraldine  coolly  lighted  another  cigarette.  She 
seemed  to  be  considering.  "When  two  people  reach 
the  climax  in  their  lives,  when  they  mean  as  little  to 
one  another  as  you  two,"  she  commented  insultingly, 
"then  even  children  do  not  count." 

"What  do  you  know  concerning  our  lives?" 

Geraldine's  shrug  was  expressive,  and  she  half 
yawned  in  a  bored  manner. 

"What  everybody  else  knows,"  she  enlightened, 
"that  you  are  mismated — that  you  haven't  an  idea 
in  common — that  your  husband  believes  in  living 
while  you  have  stayed  at  home — and — well, — "  She 
eyed  her  rival  insolently  from  head  to  foot, — "have 
you  ever  looked  at  yourself  in  the  mirror?  When 
Hugh  Benton  told  me  he  was  four  years  your  senior 
I  wouldn't  believe  it.  You're  more  like  his  mother. 
Why,  you're  forty  years  old,  Marjorie  Benton,  and 
I'm  thirty-six — yes — I  know  I  tell  everybody  I'm 
twenty-six  (I've  been  taken  for  twenty-three)  that's 
the  difference  between  us.  I'm  being  brutally  frank 
with  you  because  I  want  to  show  you  how  impossible 
it  is  for  you  to  hold  your  husband." 

Marjorie  gulped  as  the  stinging  words  flayed  her. 

"Perhaps  all  you  say  is  true,  Mrs,  DeLacy,"  she 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       129 

admitted  slowly.  "I  may  be  as  you  say — decidedly 
unattractive, — but  I  do  know  that  until  you  came 
into  my  husband's  life,  I  was  the  only  woman  in  it." 

"How  ridiculous,"  Geraldine  laughed.  "You 
mean  I  am  the  only  one  you  happen  to  think  you 
know  about." 

"It  is  useless  for  me  to  waste  words  with  you." 
Marjorie  Benton,  usually  so  calm,  so  cool,  so  com- 
plete mistress  of  herself,  lost  all  control  in  this  crisis. 
She  spoke  bitterly.  "I  can  never  bring  you  to  see 
things  from  my  viewpoint,  and  I  could  never  stoop 
to  your  level  to  discuss  them." 

"Stop!"  Geraldine  commanded  angrily  as  she 
hurriedly  rose.  "You  may  go  a  bit  too  far — even 
with  me,  Mrs.  Benton.  I  came  here  at  your  request, 
and  have  submitted  calmly  to  your  insults  because, 
in  my  heart,  I  pity  you !  But  I  refuse  to  allow  you 
to  presume  any  further.  Up  to  now  your  husband 
has  simply  been  my  friend  and  counselor.  But  he 
cares  for  me — I  know  he  does — and  I  shall  act  ac- 
cordingly!" 

Marjorie  eyed  her  disdainfully.  "So  it's  threats, 
now!" 

"Merely  fair  warning."  Gaining  confidence  in 
herself  each  moment,  Geraldine  DeLacy  was  twist- 
ing the  iron. 

"Then  you  will  deliberately  step  in  between  hus- 
band and  wife?" 

For  her,  Marjorie  Benton  was  almost  pleading, 
but  her  plea  was  made  to  a  woman  soulless,  caring 
only  for  what  might  best  further  her  own  interests. 

"I  cannot  come  into  Hugh  Benton's  life,"  an- 
swered that  woman,  weighing  each  word  with  cruel 
deliberation,  "unless  he  is  willing  for  me  to  do  so — 
therefore,  I  think  the  matter  rests  entirely  with  him, 
and  neither  you  nor  I  have  a  right  to  discuss  it." 


130       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

Mrs.  Hugh  Benton,  her  s§lf-control  all  miracu- 
lously returned,  an  unaccustomed  red  spot  on  either 
pale  cheek,  rose  in  all  her  dignity. 

"Your  impertinence,  Mrs.  DeLacy,"  she  com- 
mented dryly,  "is  beyond  comprehension.  I  regret 
exceedingly  having  requested  you  to  call,  but  having 
done  so,  I  now  request  you  to  leave  1" 


CHAPTER  X 

AS  though  at  the  prearranged  signal  of  the  same 
imp  that  had  been  taking  such  a  hand  in 
Marjorie  Benton's  affairs,  it  was  at  this  dra- 
matic moment  that  Hugh  Benton  entered  the  room. 
He  was  mystified,  worried,  at  what  he  saw;  uneasy, 
too,  at  seeing  the  woman  he  believed  he  had  come 
to  love  in  an  obvious  altercation  with  his  wife. 

Two  angry  women,  almost  too  intent  on  their  own 
belligerency  to  notice  his  appearance,  faced  each 
other.  His  own  wife,  those  two  angry  red  spots  on 
her  white  withered  cheeks,  stood  like  some  accusing 
goddess  with  hand  pointing  to  the  door,  her  eyes 
never  leaving  those  dark  flaming  ones  of  Geraldine 
DeLacy.  What  could  it  mean?  Had  Hugh's  con- 
science been  a  clear  one,  he  could  not  have  been  more 
dumfounded  at  the  scene  that  greeted  him. 

It  was  Geraldine  DeLacy  who  saw  him  first.  She 
turned  to  him  appealingly,  her  eyes  asking  for  sym- 
pathy and  understanding.  She  laughed  nervously  as 
she  answered  the  question  he  had  not  found  voice 
to  form. 

"Your  wife  has  just  requested  me  to  leave,  Mr. 
Benton,"  she  told  him. 

"Requested  you  to  leave?  Why  Marjorie," 
Hugh  turned  to  his  wife  perturbed,  "what  does  this 
mean?" 

"I  prefer  not  to  discuss  it  now,  Hugh."  Marjorie 
replied  as  calmly  as  she  could.  "I  will  explain  to 
you — when  we  are  alone." 

Geraldine  flared  angrily.  "Well,  I  will  explain 
it  to  him  now,"  she  cried.  "Your  wife  sent  for  me, 
Mr,  Benton,  to  accuse  me  of  luring  you  away  from 


132       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

her.  She  happened  to  see  us  driving  together  yes- 
terday, and  immediately  reached  her  own  conclusion. 
I  have  never  been  so  grossly  insulted  in  my  life." 

More  confused  than  ever,  Hugh  searched  for 
words. 

"I  can't  believe  it,"  was  his  inconsequential  reply. 
"Marjorie,  you  must  be  insane  to  do  a  thing  like 
this.  I  demand  that  you  apologize  to  Mrs.  DeLacy 
at  once." 

Trembling  from  head  to  foot,  white  as  death, 
Marjorie  Benton  drew  herself  up  to  her  fullest 
height.  One  long,  searching  look  she  turned  on  each 
and  it  was  still  with  the  dignity  of  the  avenger  that 
she  turned  and  swept  from  the  room. 

Hugh  stared  after  her  in  utter  astonishment. 
"I'm  so  sorry,  Mrs.  DeLacy,  I'm  sure  you  know 
that,"  he  said,  in  pained  confusion.  "I  can't  under- 
stand it.  The  only  thing  I  can  do  is  to  apologize 
to  you  for  Mrs.  Benton." 

"Please  don't  say  a  word,  Mr.  Benton."  The 
change  in  Geraldine  DeLacy  was  an  instantaneous 
one.  A  light  of  mirth  danced  in  the  eyes  that  had 
been  so  wrathful,  the  hard  voice  purred.  "It  is  you 
of  whom  I  am  thinking.  You  don't  know  how  I  feel 
for  you.  I  don't  believe  Mrs.  Benton  realized  what 
she  was  doing.  She  was  just  beside  herself — I  can 
only  pity  her." 

"You  are  indeed  generous,"  he  murmured. 

"It  must  be  a  dreadful  thing,"  she  said  so  softly 
that  she  might  have  been  thinking  aloud,  "for  a 
woman  to  feel  that  the  man  she  cares  for,  is  slipping 
away  from  her,  even  though  she  is  to  blame." 

"Understanding  as  usual,"  was  Hugh's  admiring 
comment,  "but,"  and  the  words  tumbled  over  them- 
selves in  their  eagerness  to  be  voiced,  "why  is  it,  I 
wonder,  that  life  always  holds  just  one  thing  from 
us  to  make  our  happiness  complete?  I've  had  more 


133 

than  my  share  of  good  fortune  in  all  things  except 
the  love  and  companionship — and " 

"You're  just  in  the  prime  of  life,"  answered  the 
woman  dreamily.  "Who  knows  what  may  be  wait- 
ing for  you — just  around  the  corner?" 

She  turned  toward  the  door,  but  stopped  to  smile, 
as  she  observed:  "I'm  staying  at  home  to-morrow 
evening — alone.  The  family  are  going  to  a  concert 
which  would  bore  me  to  death." 

"You  may  look  for  me  about  eight-thirty,"  was 
the  man's  quick  answer.  "I  am  anxious  to  have  you 
expound  more  of  your  marvelous  philosophy." 

She  held  out  her  hand.  "I  think  you  will  find  that 
we  have  many  thoughts  in  common.  Good-by." 

In  her  car,  homeward  bound,  Geraldine  DeLacy 
reflected  exultingly.  Fate  had  brought  about  the 
very  situation  she  longed  for  but  would  have  found 
difficult  to  arrange.  How  fortunate  for  her  that 
she  had  held  herself  discriminatingly  aloof  at  the 
luncheon  yesterday.  Hugh  could  only  judge  her  to 
be  a  greatly  wronged  and  unjustly  accused  woman. 
She  congratulated  herself  again  and  again  upon  her 
cleverness  in  assuming  the  attitude  of  magnanimous 
generosity.  His  admiration  and  respect  she  knew 
she  had  attained,  and  she  would  determine  upon  her 
next  move  to-morrow  night. 

With  Mrs.  DeLacy  gone,  Hugh  Benton  lost  no 
time  in  searching  out  his  wife.  He  went  directly  to 
her  room.  He  opened  the  door  unceremoniously 
and  walked  in.  Marjorie  was  seated  in  a  rocker 
by  the  window,  her  eyes  inflamed  and  swollen  with 
weeping.  She  glanced  up  surprisedly  as  Hugh  en- 
tered— quite  an  unusual  thing  for  him  to  do  without 
knocking. 

"I  suppose  you  have  come  to  apologize,"  she 
faltered,  "for  the  dreadful  way  in  which  you  hu- 
miliated me." 


i34       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

"Apologize!"  he  fairly  exploded.  "I  should  say 
not — I  have  come  to  ask  you  how  you  dared  to 
insult  Mrs.  DeLacy  in  that  manner?" 

"So  that's  it!"  Marjorie  bounded  to  her  feet. 
"You  should  be  ashamed  to  mention  her  name  in  my 
presence — your " 

Something  in  his  eyes  forbade  her  finishing  the 
sentence  as  it  had  been  intended,  but  she  went  on, 
instead:  "A  woman  who  comes  into  my  life  for  the 
sole  purpose  of  wrecking  it — I  wasn't  afraid  to  face 
her  with  the  truth." 

"But  that's  just  it,"  thundered  the  husband,  "it 
wasn't  the  truth." 

Marjorie  Benton  laughed  her  hard  laugh.  She 
dropped  into  the  chair  from  which  she  had  risen, 
but  her  hand  trembled  as  she  searched  for  a  maga- 
zine. Her  thin  shoulders  shrugged,  her  eyebrows 
lifted.  "So?"  she  inquired  coolly.  "Then  perhaps 
I  spoke  just  in  time  to  prevent  it  from  ever  becoming 
— the  truth." 

Hugh  stared  at  her  in  blank  amazement.  "Mar- 
jorie, I  believe  you  are  going  insane — it  is  so  utterly 
ridiculous  for  me  to  attempt  even  to  argue  with 
you." 

With  no  further  word,  he  rushed  from  the  room, 
colliding  with  Howard  at  the  door,  and  almost 
knocking  him  over. 

"Good  evening,  Dad — you're  just  the  one  I  want 
to  see.  I've  got  my  car.  Come  down  to  the  garage 
and " 

Hugh  brushed  by  his  son  without  deigning  to 
reply.  Howard  pursed  his  lips  in  a  long  whistle. 

"Gee  whiz,  mother — what's  eating  Dad?"  he 
asked,  as  he  gently  pushed  open  his  mother's  door. 
"Have  you  been  telling  him  tales  about  me?" 

"No,  dear,  I  haven't  mentioned  you."  The 
mother's  reply  was  listless. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       135 

"Well,  what's  wrong  with  him — he  didn't  even 
answer  me,  and  almost  threw  me  off  my  feet!  I 
was  going  to  ask  him — "  He  stopped  short  at  a 
sudden  idea.  "I  say,  mother,"  he  urged,  "what's 
the  matter  with  you  doing  it?  Come  on  downstairs 
with  me  for  a  few  moments — I  want  to  show  you 
something." 

"I  am  very  tired  and  nervous,  dear,"  Marjorie 
replied  wearily.  "Can't  you  explain  what  it  is  with- 
out my  having  to  go  downstairs?" 

But  the  boy  was  insistent.  "Oh,  come  on, 
mother,"  he  coaxed,  taking  hold  of  her  arm.  "I've 
just  got  to  show  it  to  someone,  and  you're  the  only 
one  home." 

Something  pulled  violently  at  Marjorie's  heart- 
strings, as  a  flood  of  tender  recollections  surged 
through  her.  She  could  see  Howard  again  as  a  tiny 
boy  tugging  at  her  apron  and  coaxing  for  a  lollypop. 
After  all,  he  was  only  an  overgrown,  handsome  boy 
— and  her  own.  Obeying  a  sudden  impulse,  she 
placed  her  arms  tenderly  about  him. 

"Dp  you  love  me  very  much,  Howard?"  she 
asked. 

Having  spent  so  much  time  away  from  home,  at- 
tending boarding  school  and  college,  Howard  had 
experienced  little  real  affection.  For  his  father  he 
possessed  a  great  admiration.  He  enjoyed  being 
designated  as  the  son  of  Hugh  Benton,  the  Wall 
Street  magnate,  and  he  also  knew  that  he  owed  his 
ability  to  indulge  in  many  extravagances  to  his 
father's  generosity.  His  mother,  in  his  eyes,  had 
always  been  a  nice  old  lady,  rather  impossible  and 
aggravating  at  times.  He  had  often  wondered,  he 
was  forced  to  admit,  why  a  handsome,  distinguished 
man  like  his  father  had  ever  married  such  an  old- 
fashioned,  plain  woman. 

He  was  perceptibly  embarrassed  at  his  mother's 


136       [THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

unexpected  query,  but  an  innate  kindness  and  gener- 
osity of  which  he  knew  little  himself,  bade  him  re- 
turn her  caress  with  a  gentle  pressure  as  he  told 
her  with  careless  tenderness: 

"Why,  of  course,  I  love  you,  mother — why 
shouldn't  I?  But  come  on  down — be  a  real  sport." 
Gently  he  took  her  arm,  hurried  her  down  the  stairs 
and  out  to  the  yard. 

"Look,"  he  said  proudly,  "isn't  she  a  beauty!" 

Standing  in  the  garage  was  an  expensive,  high- 
class  bright  red  roadster. 

"My  new  present  from  Dad,"  he  explained. 

"How  did  you  get  it  so  quickly?"  Marjorie  asked. 
"It  was  only  yesterday  morning  that  I  heard  you 
say  you  were  going  to  order  it."  Then  she  added, 
dubiously,  as  she  walked  nearer  and  eyed  it  critically: 
"This  must  have  been  very  expensive,"  she  said, 
noticing  the  make. 

"Well,  Dad  didn't  limit  me;  he  simply  told  me  I 
could  have  a  car,  so  I  thought  I  might  as  well  get 
one  of  the  best."  Howard  took  it  as  a  matter  of 
course. 

"Your  father  always  indulges  both  Elinor  and 
you  to  a  ridiculous  extent,"  his  mother  demurred. 

"Dad's  all  right!"  Howard  bristled  up.  "And  if 
you'd  take  a  tip  from  me,  mother,  you'd  try  to 
spruce  up  a  bit  and  be  a  little  more  companionable 
to  him,  or  some  'chicken'  will  be  stealing  him  away 
from  you  one  of  these  days." 

Marjorie  turned  ghastly  as  she  clutched  at  the 
car  for  support.  Could  it  be  possible  that  Howard 
knew  something,  and  was  trying  to  warn  her?  No, 
she  decided,  as  she  glanced  up  and  saw  that  he  was 
busily  engaged  examining  the  engine,  and  not  paying 
the  slightest  attention  to  what  he  had  said.  It  was 
only  a  chance  remark,  but  oh,  how  the  thrust  had 
gone  home! 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       .137 

Marjorie  Benton  looked  at  this  handsome  boy 
who  was  her  own  son,  her  flesh  and  blood.  A  surge 
of  deep  feeling  came  over  her.  Why,  he  was  no 
longer  a  boy!  He  was  a  man — her  son,  one  to 
comfort  and  cherish  her.  A  thought  which  brought 
the  quick  blood  to  her  face,  so  foreign  was  it  to  her 
usual  restraint  and  the  way  she  had  come  to  bear 
her  burdens  silently  overwhelmed  her.  Why  not 
tell  Howard?  Why  not  ask  his  aid? 

She  walked  slowly  over  to  the  youth  who  was 
whistling  as  he  patted  the  smooth  shining  hood  of 
his  new  toy  as  though  it  were  a  living  feeling  thing, 
and  placed  her  hand  on  his  arm.  Howard  looked 
up  quickly,  but  something  he  saw  in  his  mother's 
eyes  brought  a  remonstrance  to  his  lips. 

"Why,  mother — dear — what  is  it?"  he  asked. 
"You  look  so  queer!" 

The  mother's  smile  was  wan. 

"I  feel  queer,  dear,"  she  admitted.  "The  whole 
world  looks  queer.  Howard,  my  son,  I  must  tell  you 
something.  "Your  father  and  I  have  quarreled  and 
I'm  afraid  seriously." 

"So  that  is  what  was  wrong  with  him,"  Howard 
whistled  again,  but  there  was  relief  in  his  voice  as 
he  added,  carelessly:  "Well,  why  should  he  take 
it  out  on  me — I  can't  help  it  if  you  two  can't  hit  it 
off  together — can  I?" 

"Oh,    Howard!"    Marjorie    shuddered.      "How 


can  you 

"Now,  don't  you  go  and  misunderstand  me,  mater 
—but  what's  the  use  of  being  so  serious?  You've 
quarreled  many  times  before,  and  it  always  blows 
over." 

"But  this  is  different.  Whenever  we've  quarreled 
before,  it  has  always  been  over  you  or  Elinor — or 
places  to  go,  or  people  to  entertain — but  this  time 


i38       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

it  is  a — woman!"  Shame  brought  the  last  word  out 
barely  above  a  whisper. 

"A  woman! — Not  Dad?"  Howard  laughed. 
"Who  would  have  believed  it?  How  did  you  catch 
him?" 

"Howard,"  Marjorie  struggled  with  her  choking 
sobs,  "-please  try  to  understand — can't  you  see — my 
heart  is  breaking.  I  haven't  anyone  in  the  world  to 
turn  to  but  you.  You're  a  man,  dear,  I — I  thought 
perhaps  you  can  help  me  or  advise  me?" 

Howard's  face  became  grave.  "I'm  sorry, 
mother,"  he  begged,  "forgive  me.  Of  course,  I'll 
help  you  all  I  can.  Who  is  this  woman?" 

"I'd  rather  not  tell  you  her  name." 

"Is  she  young  and  pretty?" 

"She's  only  four  years  younger  than  I,"  was  the 
sad  answer,  "but  you  would  take  her  for  a  girl — and 
she  is  very  pretty." 

Howard  seemed  to  be  considering  the  matter  seri- 
ously. When  he  spoke  it  was  with  carefully  chosen 
words. 

"Mater,  do  you  mind  if  I  hand  it  to  you  straight 
from  the  shoulder?"  he  asked  bluntly. 

"Say  whatever  you  wish,"  she  replied. 

"Well  then,"  he  said,  and  he  could  not  help  but 
see  his  mother's  wince  of  pain  as  her  own  son  went 
on,  "this  is  all  your  own  fault.  You've  never  been 
willing  to  go  anywhere  with  Dad;  you  won't  keep 
yourself  young  for  him.  Why,  he's  just  like  a  boy! 
Whenever  we  go  out  together,  everyone  thinks  he's 
my  brother.  If  he  can't  find  the  companionship  he, 
needs  in  his  own  home,  he  is  bound  to  seek  it  on  the 
outside." 

"But  Howard,"  demurred  Marjorie  weakly,  "I 
don't  believe  in  cabarets,  and  musical  comedies,  and 
it  seems  silly  to  fix  up  like  a  girl  of  twenty.  I  don't 
believe  in  trying  to  make  myself  young." 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       139 

"But  mother,  you  are  young,"  Howard  per- 
sisted. "Why  don't  you  say — 'to  hell  with  my 
beliefs!  My  husband's  love  is  the  only  thing  that 
counts.'  ' 

"Why — Howard — "  Marjorie  was  shocked,  but 
pleased  nevertheless. 

"Beat  this  other  woman  to  it,"  Howard  was 
speaking  in  the  sage  manner  of  a  man  of  the  world. 
"Get  the  right  kind  of  clothes — fix  yourself  up,  and 
then  do  a  little  vamping  on  your  own  account  and 
just  see  what  happens." 

"Oh — I  wonder — if  I  could,"  she  murmured. 

"Of  course,  you  could — take  it  from  me,  mother! 
You  can  hold  your  own  with  any  woman,  if  you  just 
buckle  up  a  bit.  Well,  I'm  going  to  take  a  spin 
around  the  block  and  then  go  downtown."  Howard 
Benton  had  been  serious  long  enough  for  one  day. 
He  hesitated,  then,  "I  wonder,  mater — could  you 
spare  fifty — I'm  awfully  low  in  funds?"  he 
wheedled. 

"Yes,  dear,"  she  answered  dreamily,  "come  with 
me  to  my  room." 

Upstairs  she  extracted  a  number  of  bills  from  her 
purse.  "There's  a  hundred  for  you,"  she  said, 
handing  them  to  him. 

"Thanks  awfully!"  The  boy  kissed  her,  and 
walked  to  the  door.  Something  urged  him  to  turn. 
His  mother  was  looking  at  him  with  eyes  filled  with 
longing.  He  grinned  at  her  cheerily.  "And  I  say, 
mother,"  he  offered,  "ask  me  anything  you  wish  to 
know — I'm  the  best  little  advisor  you  ever  met. 
Good-night." 

Marjorie  Benton  locked  her  door,  walked  straight 
to  her  dressing  table,  and  sitting  down  before  the 
mirror,  gazed  at  herself  long  and  intently.  It  was 
time  for  an  inventory.  But  even  she  was  shocked  at 
what  she  saw. 


1 40       THE  VALLEY  OE  CONTENT 

Surely,  she  thought,  that  pale,  drawn  face  with  its 
drooping  mouth,  lusterless  eyes  and  severely  ar- 
ranged hair  didn't  belong  to  her!  She  had  been 
pretty  and  attractive  once,  she  knew. 

"Buckle  up  a  bit." 

The  words  seemed  to  stand  out  before  her  in 
letters  of  fire.  Perhaps  Howard  had  been  the  in- 
strument by  which  her  problem  would  be  solved. 
She  would  try  it  at  any  rate.  Probably  when  Hugh 
saw  her  looking  as  other  women,  he  would  lose  all 
desire  for  anyone  else  and  she  would  regain  her 
place  in  his  heart. 

It  was  a  new  Marjorie,  one  rejuvenated  and  en- 
thused who  hastened  down  the  corridor  to  Elinor's 
room,  where  she  found  Marie,  her  daughter's  maid, 
mending  a  party  frock. 

"Marie,  will  you  help  me  a  little?"  she  stam- 
mered in  evident  embarrassment. 

Marjorie  had  never  possessed  a  maid  of  her  own. 
She  could  not  be  bothered  with  someone  fumbling 
about  her,  and  besides,  her  style  was  so  simple  she 
had  always  declared.  It  was  different  with  Elinor. 
She  had  written  to  her  father  asking  that  a  maid 
be  installed  for  her  before  she  returned  from  school. 
Marie  arose  and  put  aside  her  work. 

"Oui,  Madame,  avec  plaiser"  she  answered, 
smiling  encouragingly. 

Because  of  Marjorie's  kind  and  courteous  manner 
with  all  of  the  servants,  they  were  genuinely  fond 
of  her. 

"Do  you  think  you  could  dress  my  hair,  massage 
my  face  and — oh — sort  of  fix  me  up  in  general?" 

Marjorie    blushed.      "I've    taken    a    notion    to — 
.  >> 

"I  understand,  Madame,"  Marie  beamed.  "And 
oh,  I  am  so  glad — you  are  ze  very  pretty  woman, 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT        141 

and  when  Marie  feenish  you — oh — la — la —  You 
will  be  lovely!" 

"Thank  you,  Marie,  but  I  haven't  a  thing  except 
a  little  powder — I  want  to  be  dressed  when  Mr. 
Benton  comes  home  for  dinner — just  to — just  to — 
surprise  him.  My  dresses  are  all  so — well,  so " 

"Nevair  mind — you  leave  everything  to  me.  Go 
to  your  room — I  bring  all  ze  things  you  need — and 
your  dress — well — a  needle,  ze  thread,  a  scissair — 
and  zere  you  are,  Madame!" 

"All  right,  I  shall  remember  you  for  this,  Marie," 
and  Marjorie  returned  to  her  room,  her  heart  beat- 
ing like  a  trip  hammer. 

"Here  we  are,"  Marie  announced,  entering  a  few 
minutes  later,  carrying  a  small  box  filled  with  an 
array  of  bottles  and  jars  which  she  plumped  down 
rattling  on  Marjorie's  dresser.  Then,  with  her 
small  head  cocked  birdlike  on  one  side,  she  surveyed 
her  prospect. 

"First  of  all,  Madame,"  she  'declared  with  au- 
thority, "you  must  have  ze  nice  warm  bath." 

"Everything  is  in  your  hands,  Marie."  And 
Marjorie,  smiling  so  brightly  that  it  transformed 
her  expression,  started  for  the  bathroom. 

"No,  no,  Madame,"  Marie  gently  forced  her  back 
to  the  chaise  longue.  "I  do  everything — draw  ze 
watair — put  in  ze  perfume — just  like  I  do  for  Mees 
Elinor.  You  rest  here,  and  be  comfortable — so." 
She  proceeded  to  remove  Marjorie's  gown  and 
shoes,  and  arrange  the  cushions  at  her  head. 

Marjorie  closed  her  eyes  and  nestled  down  con- 
tentedly. She  really  believed  she  was  enjoying  this 
new  experiment  of  being  waited  upon.  Only  yes- 
terday she  had  been  quite  disgusted  with  Elinor, 
when  upon  entering  her  room,  she  had  discovered 
her  stretched  lazily  in  an  easy  chair,  with  Marie  on 


1 42        THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

her  knees  lacing  her  boots.  Surely,  she  had  thought, 
a  healthy  young  girl  like  Elinor  should  be  able  to 
do  such  things  for  herself.  It  was  all  right  to  have 
a  maid,  if  you  desired  one  to  dress  your  hair,  or 
fasten  an  intricately  arranged  frock,  but  to  lace 
your  boots — that  was  a  different  matter.  And  here 
she  was,  the  following  day,  permitting  Marie  to  fill 
her  bath  and  actually  remove  her  shoes 

Marjorie,  emerging  from  her  bath,  tingling  and 
greatly  refreshed,  placed  herself  completely  in  the 
maid's  willing  hands.  After  a  delightful  massage, 
the  array  of  jars  and  bottles  came  into  play.  Then 
a  tiny  tweezer  came  into  view.  At  the  first  pluck 
of  an  eyebrow,  Marjorie  almost  jumped  out  of  her 
chair:  "Oh — that  hurts!  What  are  you  doing?" 
she  demanded. 

"I  pull  out  ze  ugly  thick  eyebrow  and  shape  heem 
magnifique,"  she  replied  calmly,  as  she  yanked  out 
another. 

"No,  no,"  Marjorie  remonstrated.  "I  can't  allow 
it — it  is  too — well — silly." 

"Seely? — Why  you  say  seely? — Eet  is  stylish, 
and  what  all  ze  well  groomed  women  she  have.  You 
say  you  leave  everysing  to  Marie.  Why  not  now 
you  do  as  you  say — pourquoif 

"Very  well,  I'll  go  through  with  this  thing,  now 
that  I've  started — have  it  your  own  way."  Marjorie 
settled  down  resignedly,  clenching  her  fists  as  if 
preparing  for  a  serious  operation. 

When  the  brows  were  carefully  arched,  Marie 
started  in  with  the  bottles.  First,  the  grayish  com- 
plexion was  transformed  into  a  pearly  whiteness, 
to  which  was  added  a  slight  tinge  of  blush  rose,  from 
a  tiny  jar,  at  the  sight  of  which  Marjorie  shuddered 
inwardly  and  closed  her  eyes.  Then  came  a  touch 
of  carmine  to  the  lips,  and  a  carefully  studied  tracing 
of  mascara  to  the  eyes. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       143 

"S'il  vous  plait,  Madame.  Do  not  look  in  ze 
mirror  until  aftair  I  have  you  feenish.  I  want  zat 
it  be — surprise." 

Marie  began  a  vigorous  brushing  of  the  heav} 
strands  of  hair,  the  lifelessness  of  which  she  reme- 
died considerably  with  a  little  brilliantine.  After 
arranging  a  most  becoming  and  modish  coiffeur,  she 
entered  the  clothes  closet  and  carefully  surveyed  the 
dresses. 

"Mon  Dieu,"  Marie  groaned  inwardly,  as  her  eyes 
wandered  over  the  rows  of  unattractive  garments. 
Finally,  after  much  deliberation,  she  selected  a  gown 
of  black  lace.  The  skirt  with  its  double  flounce 
swept  the  ground  evenly,  and  the  V-shaped  neck  was 
filled  in  with  silk  net,  which  formed  a  high  collar, 
boned  to  run  up  behind  the  ears.  The  same  material 
was  gathered  from  the  elbow  sleeve  of  lace  to  the 
wrist. 

"Now,  Madame  will  please  to  slip  on  ze  dress 
while  I  make  ze  alteration." 

Marjorie  stood  patiently,  while  Marie  measured 
and  pinned  up  the  flounces  so  that  they  hung  grace- 
fully just  above  the  ankles. 

"So  zat  is  bettair.  Madame  will  sit  here  and 
relax."  Marie  wrapped  a  dressing-gown  about  her 
mistress  and  seated  her  in  a  comfortable  lounging 
chair. 

"It  will  take  me  about  half  an  hour  for  ze  work. 
In  Mees  Elinor's  room  I  have  all  ze  things  neces- 
saire,  so  I  feex  heem  in  zere,"  the  maid  explained. 

When  Marie  had  departed  with  the  dress,  Mar- 
jorie tilted  her  head  comfortably  against  the  head- 
rest of  the  chair  and  gazed  intently  at  the  ceiling. 
"How  surprised  the  family  will  be  when  I  go  down 
to  dinner,"  she  reflected  anticipatingly.  Hugh  would 
be  please'd,  she  felt  sure.  He  had  urged  her  so 
often  to  try  to  modernize  her  ideas.  Of  course,  her 


i44   THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

awakening  as  to  his  shortcomings  had  been  some- 
what rude  and  sudden,  but  she  would  try  to  think  it 
had  been  for  the  best.  Perhaps  they  would  drift 
back  again  into  their  old  days  of  love  and  devotion. 
She  smiled  wryly  as  she  thought  how  Howard's 
tactless  little  speech  had  done  more  for  her  than  all 
of  Hugh's  pleadings  and  Elinor's  criticisms. 

Further  reflection  was  cut  short  by  Marie's  en- 
thusiastic entrance. 

"Oh,  Madame,"  she  exclaimed  in  her  enthusiastic 
way,  "ze  dress  is  magnifique!  I  hafe  feex  heem  so 
good — no,  no,"  holding  it  behind  her  as  Marjorie 
attempted  to  examine  it.  "First  I  will  put  heem  on 
you  and  zen  you  shall — see !" 

"All  right,  I'll  close  my  eyes."  Marjorie  laughed, 
as  Marie  slipped  the  gown  over  her  head. 

"Now — Madame  will  please  to  look." 

Marjorie  walked  to  the  long  cheval  mirror  and 
started  in  genuine  astonishment  at  the  apparition 
before  her. 

"Marie,  what  have  you  done  to  me!"  she  ex- 
claimed in  hushed  wonderment.  "I  hardly  recognize 
myself!" 

"Madame  ees  vairy  beautiful."  The  little  maid 
beamed  delightedly.  "Eet  ees  just  zat  all  ze  beauty 
be  brought  out." 

Wonders  indeed  had  Marie's  clever  fingers 
worked  with  the  simple  black  gown.  She  had  re- 
moved the  net  from  the  neck  and  sleeves,  had  short- 
ened the  skirt  so  that  it  revealed  Marjorie's  slim 
ankles  and  graceful  feet  encased  in  dainty  black  satin 
slippers,  and  then  around  the  waist  she  had  folded 
a  wide  girdle  of  black  maline  interwoven  with  a 
double-faced  satin  ribbon  of  orchid  and  turquoise 
blue,  lending  an  irresistible  charm  and  certain  indi- 
viduality to  the  entire  dress. 

"I  would  not  have  thought  it  possible  that  you 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       145 

could  improve  me  like  this,  Marie,"  said  the  mis- 
tress gratefully.  "I  shall  not  forget  your  kindness." 

"Eet  ees  ze  great  plasair  to  do  for  Madame — 
eef  only  Madame  would  buy  some  chic  gowns," 
Marie  ventured  hesitatingly. 

"To-morrow  I  shall  shop,  Marie,  and  you  shall 
come  with  me,"  Marjorie  announced,  with  unusual 
enthusiasm,  as  the  dinner  chimes  sounded  below. 

Glowing  with  optimistic  anticipation,  she  nodded 
brightly  to  the  maid,  and  walked  buoyantly  down 
the  stairs.  Entering  the  dining  room  she  found 
Elinor  and  Howard  there  before  her.  Neither  had 
taken  the  trouble  to  dress.  Elinor  was  absorbed  in 
her  book  while  Howard  sat  almost  buried  in  the 
evening  paper,  so  that  the  first  intimation  they  had 
of  Marjorie's  presence  in  the  room  was  her  low: 
"Good  evening,  children." 

Howard  arose  to  his  feet  with  nonchalant 
courtesy,  and  Elinor  languidly  lifted  her  eyes  from 
her  book.  Then  came  the  simultaneous  exclamation: 
"Mother!" 

Both  stared  at  Marjorie  with  unfeigned  astonish- 
ment. Howard  was  the  first  to  reach  her  side. 

"Why  mater,  you're  marvelous,"  he  assured  her 
with  profound  admiration.  "You've  been  holding 
out  on  us  all  these  years,  and  you  sure  have  all  the 
Broadway  chickens  I  know  skinned  a  mile." 

"Oh,  Howard,"  Marjorie  blushed,  but  she  did 
not  chide  him  for  his  slangy  compliment,  instead 
answered  laughingly:  "You  have  such  a  funny  little 
way  of  expressing  yourself,  dear." 

"Funny  little  way!"  Elinor  could  scarcely  believe 
her  ears.  Why  yesterday  at  the  same  remark,  her 
mother  would  have  glanced  coldly  at  Howard  and 
spoken  of  respect  for  her  presence. 

"Do  I  please  you,  Elinor?"  Marjorie  turned 
timidly  to  her  daughter. 


146       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

"I'm  just  trying  to  regain  my  equilibrium,  mother. 
You've  fairly  taken  my  breath  away.  Like  you? 
I'm  delighted  with  you.  You're  positively  ador- 
able!" Elinor  enthused,  throwing  her  arms  affection- 
ately about  her  mother.  "Just  think  what  it  means 
to  me,  to  have  a  mother  like  other  girls.  What  in 
the  world  has  brought  about  the  change?" 

"Here's  Dad,"  Howard  interrupted,  as  his 
father's  step  neared.  "Can  you  imagine  his  sur- 
prise!" 

Marjorie's  heart  pounded  as  she  flushed  agi- 
tatedly. 

"Evening,  everybody,"  Hugh  Benton  spoke 
brusquely  as  he  breezed  into  the  room.  His  evening 
clothes  indicated  his  intention  of  going  out,  as  his 
wife's  indifference  had  long  since  caused  him  to  dis- 
continue dressing  for  dinner  unless  there  were  guests 
present. 

"Hope  I  haven't  kept  you  waiting,"  he  apologized. 
"I'm  due  at  a — a  little  stag  affair  this  evening,  so 
I  thought  I  would  save  time  by  dressing  before  din- 
ner." He  crossed  to  the  table  and  stood  behind 
Marjorie's  chair,  holding  it  for  her,  according  to 
his  mechanical  custom  of  years. 

With  a  murmured  "Thank  you"  she  accepted  the 
seat,  and  allowed  him  to  move  it  forward.  Elinor 
and  Howard  taking  their  accustomed  places,  held 
their  breaths  in  suspense  and  eagerly  waited  for 
their  father's  gaze  to  rest  upon  their  mother. 

"Well,  how's  everything?"  Hugh  asked  cheer- 
fully, as  he  unfolded  his  napkin.  He  seemed  to  be 
in  remarkably  fine  spirits  for  some  reason.  "I 
noticed  the  car  as  I  came  in,  Howard.  It  seems  to 
be  fine.  You  surprised  me  by  obtaining  one  so 
quickly — trust  you'll  make  as  rapid  headway  in  busi- 
ness deals."  He  picked  up  his  spoon  to  attack  the 
soup  the  butler  placed  before  him.  His  mind  seemed 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT        147 

anywhere  save  on  the  things  immediately  before  him, 
though  his  cheerfulness  was  exuberant.  "Had  a 
funny  experience  this  morning,  that  I  must  tell  you 
about,"  he  declared.  He  launched  forth  into  a  long, 
uninteresting  business  transaction  lasting  through  the 
first  three  courses. 

By  the  time  the  roast  reached  the  table,  Elinor 
and  Howard  were  fidgeting  uncomfortably.  Mar- 
jorie  had  begun  to  wilt  like  a  faded  flower;  she  had 
scarcely  touched  a  morsel  of  food. 

Elinor,  unable  to  stand  the  strain  another  mo- 
ment, burst  forth  breathlessly:  "Daddy,  haven't  you 
noticed  anything?" 

Marjorie's  protesting  shake  of  her  head  was  too 
late. 

"Noticed  what?"  asked  her  father  curiously.  His 
glance  wandered  about  the  room. 

"You've  been  talking  so  incessantly,"  Elinor 
blurted  forth  like  a  spoiled  child,  "you  haven't 
noticed  mother." 

Hugh  glanced  across  at  Marjorie.  "Why,  you 
have  your  hair  fixed  differently,  haven't  you,  Mar- 
jorie?" he  inquired,  with  careless  indifference.  "It 
is  quite  becoming."  He  returned  to  his  carving. 

A  solemn  and  awful  hush  pervaded  the  atmos- 
phere. Howard,  with  diplomacy  worthy  of  an  older 
man,  came  to  the  rescue,  and  broke  the  tension  by 
beginning  to  discuss  the  political  affairs  of  the  day. 

Hugh  Benton  pushed  his  mousse  away  from  him 
impatiently. 

"No  fripperies  for  me  to-night,  thank  you,"  he 
said.  "I'm  going  to  finish  off  with  a  cigar.  No, 
son,"  he  added  with  uplifted  hand  to  stay  him  as 
Howard  started  to  rise  to  accompany  him.  "Stay 
and  finish  your  dinner." 

Howard  subsided  into  his  seat,  as  his  father 
stalked  out. 


i48       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

In  Marjorie  Benton's  eyes  two  tears  glittered  that 
she  tried  to  force  back,  but  it  was  a  tremulous  laugh 
she  gave  as  she  remarked  wryly: 

"Old  hens  don't  wear  chicken  plumage  very  suc- 
cessfully, do  they,  my  dears?" 

She  tried  to  go  on  with  her  own  dessert,  but  it 
seemed  that  each  mouthful  would  choke  her.  She 
must  have  one  word  with  Hugh  before  he  left  the 
house.  She  must  make  one  final  effort!  She  laid 
down  her  spoon  listlessly  as  she  looked  up  at  How- 
ard and  Elinor. 

"I  think  I  will  leave  you, 'too,  children,  if  you 
don't  mind?"  she  queried,  with  her  usual  careful 
courtesy.  But  they  were  not  the  light  steps  with 
which  she  had  entered  the  room  but  a  short  time 
before  that  Marjorie  Benton  followed  her  husband. 

Elinor  and  Howard  stared  at  each  other  without 
uttering  a  word. 

It  was  Howard  who  first  found  voice. 

"Well,  what  do  you  know  about  that!"  he  ex- 
claimed pityingly.  "Poor  mater — she  didn't  even 
phase  him,  and  it  was  at  my  advice  she  pulled  her- 
self together  the  way  she  did." 

"It's  a  shame,  that's  what  it  is !"  his  sister  replied 
angrily.  "I'm  surprised  at  Dad,  and  deeply  disap- 
pointed. I  thought  he'd  bubble  over  with  joy  and 
we  should  be  a  happy  and  congenial  family  at  last." 

"  'And  they  lived  happy  ever  after' — that's  the 
way  it  always  ends  in  the  story-book.  Story-book  is 
good — only  I  should  say  plain  lie." 

With  grim  determination  to  make  one  final  effort, 
Marjorie  followed  Hugh  into  the  library  after  din- 
ner, where  he  had  gone  with  his  cigar. 

"Hugh,"  she  ventured  timidly,  "must  you  go  to 
this — stag  affair  to-night?" 

"Why?"  he  inquired,  in  a  tone  of  surprise. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       .149 

"Because  I  should  like  you  to  take  me  to  a — 
a  theater." 

"Oh,  my  dear  Marjorie,"  he  laughed  heartily, 
"you  know  well  enough  that  you  and  I  could  never 
enjoy  the  same  play.  You'd  pick  out  some  prosaic 
sermon  that  would  have  me  snoring  inside  of  ten 
minutes,  and  I'd  select  a  rattling  musical  comedy, 
the  mere  mention  of  which  would  cause  you  to  turn 
up  your  nose  disdainfully.  No,  just  tell  me  the  play 
you  have  in  mind,  and  I'll  get  you  tickets  for  a 
matinee.  You  can  take  some  lady  friend." 

"I  haven't  any  play  in  mind,  Hugh,  and  I'm  per- 
fectly willing  to  attend  any  musical  comedy  you 
select,"  answered  his  wife  quietly. 

"Hmm!"  Hugh  was  almost  too  bewildered  to 
speak.  "That  is  very  nice  of  you,  but  I'm  sorry  I 
can't  break  the  engagement  I  have  for  this  evening." 

"How  about  to-morrow  evening?"  she  asked  in- 
trepidly. 

"To-morrow  night  is  my  club  night,"  he  answered 
coldly,  "and  besides,  it  is  so  long  since  we  went  any- 
where together  I  have  rather  systemized  my  evenings 
to  suit  myself." 

She  flushed  as  she  turned  to  go.  But  the  thought 
of  all  that  a  misunderstanding  with  Hugh  on  this 
evening  of  evenings  would  mean,  she  determined 
on  one  more  effort,  cost  what  it  might  in  pride.  She 
came  over  and  stood  before  him.  "Hugh,"  she  of- 
fered diffidently,  as  might  a  child  pleading  for  ad- 
miration, "I  have  changed  my  style  of  dress — espe- 
cially to  please  you.  Do  you  like  it?" 

Her  husband  glanced  at  her  casually.  Then  he 
picked  up  his  gloves  and  started  to  draw  them  on. 

"Oh,  it's  all  right,  I  suppose,"  was  his  comment, 
"but  pray  don't  inconvenience  yourself  in  an  effort 
to  please  me.  You  gave  that  up  long  ago." 


150       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

Marjorie  took  another  step  toward  him  and  her 
gesture  was  pleading. 

"Hugh,"  she  begged.  "I'm  humbling  myself  a 
great  deal!  Don't  you  think  you  might  unbend  a 
little?" 

The  man's  whole  attitude  was  as  forbidding  as  the 
wide  shoulders  he  turned  from  her,  and  over  which 
he  flung  his  parting  words. 

"It  is  unnecessary  for  you  to  humble  yourself  at 
all  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  Marjorie,"  was  his 
cold  rejoinder.  "I  might  as  well  tell  you  I've  be- 
come indifferent  to  anything  you  might  say  or  do. 
You  must  see  that  it  is  impossible  for  you,  to  rectify 
the  mistakes  of  years." 

No  word  from  Marjorie  that  both  might  have 
made  mistakes.  For  once  in  her  life  she  was  willing 
to  take  the  blame — willing  to  admit  anything  if 
only 

Her  husband  had  almost  reached  the  door.  Mar- 
jorie Benton  ran  across  the  room  after  him  and 
clutched  at  his  coat  sleeve. 

"Oh,  Hugh,  dear,  my  husband!"  she  faltered. 
"Couldn't  we — couldn't  we  begin  all  over  again! 
Oh,  say  it  isn't  too  late!  Please!  I'm  so  willing 
to  try!" 

He  shook  off  her  detaining  hand  impatiently. 

"I'm  afraid  it  is  entirely  too  late,"  he  answered, 
in  a  voice  that  chilled  her  to  the  marrow.  "Good- 
night." 

Entering  the  library  fifteen  minutes  later,  Elinor 
found  her  mother,  a  pathetically  crushed  little  heap 
on  her  knees  in  front  of  the  fireplace,  her  face 
buried  in  her  hands,  her  body  convulsed  with  sobs. 

In  a  moment  she  was  beside  her,  her  arms  about 
her  protectingly. 

"What  is  it,  mother  dear?"  she  inquired  anx- 
iously. "Tell  me  what  has  happened." 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT        151 

Marjorie  arose  staggeringly,  hastily  dabbing  her 
eyes  with  her  handkerchief.  "Noth — ing,"  she 
stammered,  "nothing  at  all — I'm  nervous  and  over- 
wrought— I ' ' 

"You're  never  nervous,  mother,"  Elinor  inter- 
rupted. "You're  always  calm  and  composed — I've 
never  known  you  to  give  way  like  this  before." 

"I  know,"  Marjorie  replied,  trying  to  regain  her 
self-control.  "I've  never  given  way  so  foolishly 
before.  I  seemed  to  be  under  a  tension,  and  it 
snapped  suddenly." 

"But  mother,"  Elinor  persisted,  "something  must 
have  caused  it — won't  you  tell  me — I'm  so  sorry." 

The  mother  only  shook  her  head.  Sympathet- 
ically as  it  was  offered,  she  strangely  found  Elinor's 
interest  unbearable.  Unconsciously  she  harbored 
the  thought  that  her  daughter  had  been  responsible 
for  Hugh's  introduction  to  the  cause  of  her  sorrow 
and  a  feeling  akin  to  bitter  resentment  against  even 
her  own  daughter  rankled  in  her  heart. 

"I  think  I  will  retire,  "dear,"  she  sighed,  slowly 
advancing  toward  the  door.  "Rest  and  absolute 
quiet  are  what  I  most  require." 

"Very  well,  mother,"  Elinor  answered  indiffer- 
ently. She^  was  stung  to  the  quick  by  her  mother's 
cold  repulsion. 


CHAPTER  XI 

LOCKED  securely  in  the  sanctuary  of  her  own 
rooms,  the  wife  and  mother  undressed  fever- 
ishly, without  once  permitting  her  eyes  to 
wander  toward  a  mirror.  She  knew  that  she  would 
see  there  only  a  skeleton  beneath  the  artifices  she 
had  permitted  the  French  maid  to  gloss  her  with. 
She  was  feeling  all  about  her  the  ghosts — of  what 
once  had  been,  what  might  have  been. 

So  this  was  the  end!  She  had  tried — tried  after 
Hugh's  own  suggestions  imposed  on  her  so  often — 
and  had  failed!  This  time,  too,  it  had  further  been 
the  suggestion  of  her  son.  She  dropped  wearily 
into  a  chair,  her  eyes  closely  examining  her  slender 
foot,  but  her  thoughts  far  from  it.  Howard  had 
told  her — He  had  meant  so  well,  too,  poor  boy! 
What  was  that  he  had  said — Oh,  yes 

"To  hell  with  your  beliefs — your  husband's  love 
means  more  than  beliefs." 

And  now  it  was  too  late !  Now  she  had  nothing 
left  but  her  beliefs.  She  must  cling  to  them — must 
live  her  wrecked  life  as  worthily  as  her  conscience 
bade  her.  Slowly  she  prepared  for  bed.  She  would 
try  to  rest,  to  forget,  if  she  could,  that  Hugh  might 
be,  probably  was  with  Geraldine  DeLacy  while  she, 
Marjorie,  grieved  over  their  dead  love. 

The  feeling  of  the  make-up  on  her  face  annoyed 
her.  She  went  into  her  bathroom  and  carefully 
washed  it  all  off. 

She  censured  herself  severely  for  being  ridiculous 
enough  to  imagine  for  a  moment  that  she  could  re- 
kindle the  fire  in  her  husband's  heart  by  artifice. 

152 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       153 

Never  again  would  she  stoop  to  employ  tricks 
worthy  only  of  a  class  of  women  depicted  on  the 
motion  picture  screen,  vampires,  she  believed  they 
were  called.  But  for  the  children's  sake  she  would 
remain  with  Hugh  and  deliberately  close  her  eyes 
to  his  unfaithfulness. 

She  did  not  even  realize  her  own  unfairness.  For 
without  attempting  to  investigate  the  situation,  or 
obtain  evidence  other  than  the  scene  she  had  wit- 
nessed in  the  taxi,  Marjorie  had  jumped  to  the  con- 
clusion of  there  being  but  one  solution  to  her  hus- 
band's transgression.  She  had  forced  her  husband 
into  another  woman's  willing  arms. 

When  Hugh  Benton  left  home  in  so  ungraciously 
hurried  a  manner,  he  found  it  was  a  little  early  for 
his  appointment  with  Mrs.  DeLacy,  so  he  ordered 
his  chauffeur  to  drive  slowly  through  the  park.  It 
would  at  least  be  restful  in  the  car  and  he  was  des- 
perately tired  of  these  continual  scenes  and  argu- 
ments at  home.  By  the  time  he  reached  the 
Thurston  home,  he  had  put  his  unpleasant  talk  with 
Marjorie  from  his  mind. 

Mrs.  DeLacy  was  waiting  for  him  in  the  living 
room.  She  wore  a  clinging  gown  of  orchid  canton 
crepe,  effectively  trimmed  with  crystal  beads.  The 
stage  had  been  set  perfectly.  All  the  large  lights 
were  out,  and  only  the  soft  glow  of  rose-shaded 
lamps  illuminated  the  room.  It  was  just  chilly 
enough  to  permit  of  a  small  fire  in  the  grate,  thereby 
lending  an  atmosphere  of  homelike  comfort  to  the 
room. 

"I'm  so  glad  to  see  you,"  she  greeted  cordially, 
seating  him  in  a  comfortable  easy  chair,  and  placing 
a  smoking  stand  beside  him. 

"This  is  good  of  you,"  Hugh  Benton  sighed  pleas- 
urably. 

"On   the    contrary,"    she   smiled,    arranging   her 


154       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT, 

chair  opposite  him  just  where  one  of  the  lamps 
would  shine  softly  upon  her,  "it  is  good  of  you  to 
come  here  and  keep  me  company." 

"Mrs.  DeLacy,"  he  began  earnestly,  "I  want  to 
apologize  to  you  again  for  Mrs.  Benton's  conduct 
yesterday  afternoon.  I  thought  perhaps  I  could 
succeed  in  persuading  her  to  write  you  a  note 
or " 

"Please,  Mr.  Benton,  don't  refer  to  it  again — -I 
assure  you  I " 

"Surely,  it  must  have  hurt  you  deeply." 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  her  lips  quivering.  "I  was 
dreadfully  hurt.  You  know  how  absolutely  innocent 
I  was  and  how  undeserved  the  unkind  things  she 
said  to  me.  I  wouldn't  intentionally  harm  anyone 
for  the  world." 

"You  have  no  need  to  tell  me  that,"  he  assured 
her.  "Your  gentle  forbearance  has  been  magnifi- 
cent— please  believe  me  when  I  say — I  am  deeply 
grateful." 

"Don't  you  think  that  forgiveness  is  best?"  she 
asked  him,  ruminatively.  "To  me  there  are  always 
extenuating  circumstances.  I  have  been  thinking  it 
over  and  perhaps  Mrs.  Benton " 

"There  was  no  excuse  in  the  world  for  Mrs.  Ben- 
ton's  conduct,"  the  man  exclaimed  decisively.  He 
shook  his  head  sadly.  "This  is  not  the  first  time  I 
have  feared  my  wife  is  losing  her  mind." 

"I  forbid  you  to  mention  this  affair  again,"  she 
scolded  gently.  "We  will  consider  it  a  closed 
chapter." 

"Very  well,  it  shall  be  as  you  desire,"  he  agreed, 
"and  now  I  shall  sit  here  and  listen  while  you  tell 
me  a  great  many  things  I  am  anxious  to  know." 

"Insignificant  me  —  to  tell  you  things,"  she 
laughed,  "how  absurd.  However,  I'll  do  my  best. 
Just  what  is  it  you  are  so  anxious  to  know?" 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       155 

Hugh  had  his  queries  ready. 

"First  of  all,"  he  asked,  "what  would  you  con- 
sider the  most  important  thing  in  a  man's  life.  Take 
your  time  in  answering — that's  important,  too." 

The  woman  appeared  to  ponder  deeply. 

"I  have  it!"  she  announced  spiritedly.  "The  most 
important  thing  in  a  man's  life  is — his  loyalty." 

"His  loyalty? — To  whom?"  He  was  a  bit  per- 
plexed. 

"To  himself,  of  course!"  Then  she  went  on 
eagerly  as  she  leaned  toward  her  guest.  "So  that 
he  may  meet  the  eternal  problem  of  life  squarely — 
to  realize  once  and  for  all  that  his  life  is  his  own 
— to  do  with  as  he  pleases." 

"But  what  about  others?  Shouldn't  we  consider 
them?" 

"No,"  she  answered  resolutely.  "There  was  a 
time  in  my  life  when  duty  figured  above  all  else,  but 
with  the  passing  years,  I  have  been  forced  to  ac- 
knowledge the  futility  of  it  all.  We  sacrifice  our 
youth,  our  ambitions,  our  desires — everything  on 
the  altar  of  duty,  and  in  the  end  try  to  console  our- 
selves with  the  memories  of  what  might  have  been. 
It  doesn't  pay,  I  tell  you.  Life  at  its  best  holds  so 
little  for  us — the  heartaches  outweigh  the  joys — 
ten  to  one.  And  do  you  know,"  she  hurried  on,  as 
she  saw  how  deeply  her  words  were  sinking  in  as 
seed  in  a  soil  all  too  well  prepared  for  them,  "do 
you  know  how  the  ones  we  sacrifice  everything  for 
really  feel  toward  us?" 

"Why,  yes — some  appreciate  us,  and  others  take 
things  as  a  matter  of  fact.  They " 

"Oh,  no,"  she  interrupted.  "You're  wrong — I'll 
tell  you  how  they  feel.  In  their  heart  of  hearts  they 
hate  the  very  ones  who  are  continually  giving  up 
everything  for  them." 

"Hate?— But  why? " 


156       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

"Because,"  she  continued  gravely,  "people  who 
are  willing  to  accept  day  after  day  the  life's  happi- 
ness of  another — cannot  be  anything  but  selfish, 
narrow-minded  and  little  souled,  and  it  is  that  very 
littleness  that  fills  their  hearts  with  envy  for  the  big 
and  generous.  As  envy  is  never  the  stepping  stone 
to  love,  it  must  lead  to  its  opposite,  and  that  is — 
hatred.  Now  do  you  understand?"  Geraldine  De- 
Lacy  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  waited  for  the 
verdict  on  the  strange  cause  she  had  pleaded.  It 
came  unhesitatingly. 

"I  understand,"  admired  Hugh  Benton,  "that  you 
are  a  most  remarkable  and  logical  little  woman. 
But,"  and  the  lines  of  thought  deepened  between 
his  brows,  "would  you  advise  a  man  to  grasp  his 
happiness  should  he  see  it  before  him,  regardless  of 
anything  or  anyone  else?" 

"Yes,"  she  replied  slowly,  "I  should  advise  just 
that." 

Hugh  Benton  got  to  his  feet  and  went  over  to  his 
hostess.  Eagerly  he  grasped  both  her  hands  as  he 
bent  over  her,  and  his  voice  was  choked  with  .emo- 
tion as  he  said: 

"Then  I  should  grasp — you." 

"Me?"  The  woman  sprang  to  her  feet,  her 
feigned  astonishment  complete. 

"You  mean  happiness  to  me.  Can't  you  see  that 
I  love  you!" 

"Why — why — Mr.  Benton,"  she  floundered  pite- 
ously.  "I  hadn't  the  least  idea  that  you  were  refer- 
ring to  yourself  when  you  asked  for  my  advice — I 
thought  you  were  speaking  of  men  in  general.  You 
must  believe  me  when  I  assure  you  that  I  never 
dreamed  of  such  a  thing." 

"Am  I  displeasing  to  you?"  he  inquired  anxiously. 

"No — no — I  don't  mean  that — only  I  hadn't  the 
least  suspicion  that  I  meant  anything  to  you." 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       157 

"You  mean  everything  to  me — I  love  you,  'dear — 
I  can't  tell  you  how  deeply."  His  arms  went  out  to 
her  to  draw  her  to  him,  but  she  turned  away,  her 
bare  white  shoulders  quivering. 

"You  haven't  the  right  to  speak  to  me  of  love," 
she  protested  chokingly.  "I'm  sorry  if  I  have  given 
you  the  impression  that  I  was  the  sort  of  woman 
you  could  say  such  things  to " 

"Why,  my  dear,"  stupidly  he  tried  to  explain,  to 
protest,  as  he  sought  for  the  hand  she  withheld.  "I 
have  only  the  most  profound  respect  and  admiration 
for  you." 

"You — you  have  a  wife,"  she  accused.  As  an 
actress  Geraldine  DeLacy  would  have  made  a  pro- 
found success,  for  her  simulation  now  was  perfect. 
She  choked  back  her  sobs.  "And  yet  you  speak  to 
me  of  love.  What  am  I  to  think?" 

"When  I  came  into  this  room  to-night,  I  hadn't 
the  slightest  intention  of  revealing  my  sentiments 
toward  you.  It  was  you  yourself,  with  your  logical 
reasoning,  who  gave  me  the  courage  to  speak.  If 
I  were  free,  do  you  think — oh  my  dear,  answer  me 
truthfully — do  you  think  you  could  learn  to  care  for 
me?"  He  pleaded  wistfully. 

"Just  what  do  you  mean?"  she  breathed. 

"If  I  can  persuade  Marjorie  to  divorce  me — have 
I  a  chance  to  win  your  love?" 

She  dropped  her  eyes  to  veil  the  exultation  in  their 
clark  depths.  "Whenever  you  are  free  I  shall  be 
waiting  for  you,"  she  answered  simply. 

"You  care?"  he  whispered. 

"Yes,  dear."  And  of  her  own  accord,  she  crept 
into  his  open  arms.  "I  care — a  great  deal." 

The  dismal  failure  of  Marjorie's  attempted  recon- 
ciliation served  to  forge  a  new  link  in  the  chain  of 
'discord  already  predominant  in  the  Benton  home. 
More  and  more  Hugh  absented  himself  from  the 


158        THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

family  fireside.  Sometimes  he  remarked  carelessly 
that  he  was  "remaining  at  the  club  for  dinner,"  but 
more  frequently  he  remained  away  without  even 
deigning  to  offer  an  explanation. 

Howard's  time  was  completely  taken  up  with  his 
car  and  "the  boys,"  a  wild  set  of  society's  idle  rich, 
each  one  striving  to  outdo  the  other  in  some  sort  of 
asinine  absurdity. 

More  than  ever  before  Marjorie  withdrew  into 
her  shell.  She  had  become  acquainted  with  the 
painful  problems  of  life  and  brooded  in  silence,  de- 
termining to  bear  her  cross  until  the  children  married 
and  launched  forth  on  their  own  resources.  In 
regard  to  Elinor,  her  aspirations  were  of  the  loftiest, 
and  in  order  to  assure  the  success  of  her  most  san- 
guine hopes  she  endeavored  to  demand  an  accounting 
for  every  minute  of  her  daughter's  time.  Elinor, 
in  consequence,  was  not  long  in  becoming  a  genius 
in  the  art  of  deception. 

She  saw  Templeton  Druid  nearly  every  day;  and 
each  day  she  became  more  infatuated  with  him. 
When  he  professed  to  cherish  an  undying  love  and 
everlasting  devotion  for  her,  she  trusted  him  im- 
plicitly. After  all,  Elinor  was  only  a  spoiled  head- 
strong girl  possessing  a  bit  of  imagination  and  an 
exaggerated  opinion  of  herself.  She  believed  she 
understood  the  ways  of  the  world  and  men — par- 
ticularly men — perfectly. 

If  anyone  had  ventured  to  tell  her  that  a  man  who 
really  loved  a  girl  would  never  for  a  moment  dream 
of  compromising  her — she  would  have  replied  defi- 
antly that  she  was  broad-minded  enough  to  wave 
petty  conventionalities — and  most  capable  of  manag- 
ing her  own  affairs.  And  she  did  manage  them — 
entirely  to  her  own  satisfaction — obtaining  all  the 
pleasure  she  could  out  of  life  and  finding  after  awhile 
a  sort  of  fiendish  joy  in  this  continued  resorting  to 
subterfuge. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       159 

Elinor  Benton  may  indeed  have  become  adept  at 
fooling  her  mother.  At  her  worst,  Marjorie  Ben- 
ton  was  never  the  dragon  her  daughter  believed  her, 
and  it  never  occurred  to  her  that  her  daughter  might 
tell  her  untruths  concerning  her  comings  and  goings. 
Her  duty,  she  believed,  was  done  when  she  insisted 
on  her  strict  accounting.  In  the  Benton  household, 
however,  there  was  one  not  so  easily  fooled.  For 
a  long  time  Howard  Benton,  though  engaged  him- 
self in  pursuits  far  from  wholesome,  had  believed  he 
had  cause  to  wonder  where  his  sister  was  headed. 
He  had  never  caught  her  deliberately,  however,  until 
one  night  when  he  happened  to  be  lounging  at  home, 
and  Elinor  came  in  upon  him.  She  was  exquisitely 
attired  in  evening  dress  and  a  beautiful  ermine  wrap 
was  on  her  arm. 

'  'Lo,  sis,"  called  Howard,  looking  up  from  his 
paper.  "Where're  you  bound?" 

"I'm  going  over  to  Nell's,"  she  told  him.  "She's 
giving  a  little  dinner." 

Howard  flung  down  his  paper  and  scowled. 

"What's  your  idea?"  he  demanded. 

"My  idea?" 

"In  lying  to  me?" 

"Why — why  Howard — what  do  you  mean?" 

"I  know  you're  not  going  to  Nell's,"  he  sneered, 
"because  I  have  an  engagement  to  take  her  to 
dinner  and  a  show." 

For  a  moment  Elinor  paled.  "Heavens,  what  an 
escape,"  she  laughed,  "suppose  mother  had  been 
here.  You  won't  give  me  away,  will  you,  Howard?" 

"Why  should  I  bother  to  say  anything."  He 
shrugged.  "Only  I  would  like  to  know  where  you're 
going  that  you  have  to  be  so  secret  about  it." 

"As  long  as  you're  such  a  good  sport  about  it,  I'll 
tell  you,"  Elinor  confided  in  a  low  and  confidential 
tone,  her  glance  flung  hurriedly  toward  the  door. 
"It's  Templeton  Druid's  birthday,  and  he's  giving  a 


160       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

little  dinner  in  his  apartment  after  the  show.  It's 
going  to  be  a  jolly  little  affair  and  I  so  wanted  to 
go.  I  knew  I  could  never  get  out  that  late,  so  I'm 
going  to  spend  the  evening  with  Rosebud  Greely  and 
leave  there  in  time  to  go  to  Templeton's.  I  told 
mother  I  was  going  to  Nell's,  because  she  likes  her 
the  best  of  all  my  girl  friends." 

"And  how  will  you  explain  getting  in  so  late  from 
a  dinner,"  Howard  inquired. 

"Mother  won't  have  any  idea  as  to  the  time  I  get 
in,"  she  answered  quickly.  "She'll  be  in  bed — and 
if  by  any  chance  she  should  be  up — leave  it  to  me  to 
think  of  something  to  say." 

"Well,  just  the  same,  Sis,  I  don't  like  it."  How- 
ard fairly  growled. 

"You  don't  like  it,"  she  laughed  heartily.  "Well 
of  all  things — since  when  do  I  have  to  cater  to  your 
likes  and  dislikes?" 

"I  know  Templeton  Druid  pretty  well,"  he  an- 
swered. "He's  a  good  bit  of  a  rotter,  and  I  don't 
like  to  see  my  sister  get  mixed  up  with  him." 

"Why,  Howard !  When  I  told  you  I  knew  him, 
you  said  he  was  a  good  friend  of  yours,  and  one  of 
the  finest  fellows  you  knew — didn't  you?"  she  asked 
spiritedly. 

"Yes;  but  I  didn't  think  you  would  fall  for  him 
like  this.  He  chases  after  every  girl  he  meets." 

"That  isn't  true,"  Elinor  flared.  "It's  the  girls 
who  run  after  him.  Why,  you'd  be  surprised  if  you 
only  knew  how  many  women  in  our  own  set  write 
to  him." 

"Yes,"  Howard  sneered,  "and  I  suppose  he  tells 
you  about  them,  or  probably  shows  you  their  letters. 
That  ought  to  show  you  just  what  kind  of  a  fellow 
he  is." 

"At  any  rate,"  she  assured  him,  "I'd  be  willing 
to  wager  you  one  thing.  He'd  prove  a  better  friend 


THE  VALLEY  OF.  CONTENT       161 

than  you  are.  He  wouldn't  knock  you — behind  your 
back." 

"I  didn't  mean  to  knock  him."  Her  brother 
hastened  to  vindicate  himself,  "and  I  wouldn't  to 
anyone  else;  but  you're  my  sister,  and  it's  my  duty 
to  warn  you." 

Elinor  smiled  as  she  replied  with  sarcasm:  "This 
sudden  splurge  of  brotherly  devotion  is  really  touch- 
ing, Howard.  It's  a  pity  you  developed  it  so  late 
in  life." 

"It's  true  we've  never  been  very  close  to  one  an- 
other since  we  were  kids,  but  just  the  same,"  he 
frowned,  "I'll  not  stand  for  any  fellow  making  a 
fool  of  you." 

"Don't  worry  about  me,  old  dear!  I'm  quite 
capable  of  taking  care  of  myself  any  old  time!" 

"All  right,  have  it  your  own  way!"  was  the 
brother's  retort,  settling  down  behind  his  paper  with 
an  apparent  indifference  as  though  he  had  lost  all 
interest  and  was  dismissing  the  subject.  "But,"  and 
he  peered  over  the  sheet  he  turned  to  favor  her  with 
a  brotherly  frown  as  he  shot  out  his  advice.  "But 
when  something  happens  to  you,  remember  I  warned 
you,  and — Watch  Your  Step !" 

"Oh,  mind  your  own  business !"  snapped  Elinor, 
as  she  threw  her  wrap  about  her  and  hurried  away. 

She  was  furiously  angry,  as  she  thought  about 
Howard's  nerve,  as  she  termed  it,  for  daring  to  at- 
tempt to  interfere  with  her.  Now,  she  supposed, 
he  was  going  to  try  to  enact  the  role  of  the  protecting 
brother  and  make  things  more  difficult  for  her  than 
ever.  She  just  wouldn't  have  it! 

The  hot  tears  gushed  to  her  eyes.  Things  in  her 
home  were  disagreeable  enough  without  having  this 
new  discordant  element  to  contend  with.  Temple- 
ton  must  marry  her  soon  and  take  her  away  from  it 
all.  She  would  speak  to  him  this  very  night  I 


CHAPTER  XII 

IN  classifying  Howard  Benton  as  a  ne'er-do-well 
his  father  had  not  been  altogether  right.  So 
much  of  the  young  man's  training  was  responsible 
for  the  recklessness  which  was  making  his  name  a 
by-word  even  among  his  own  sort,  accustomed  as 
they  were  themselves  to  outre  performances.  Nor 
was  his  unwillingness  to  work  congenital,  but  only 
that  he  had  been  led  to  believe  that  the  son  of  his 
father — the  son  of  Hugh  Benton,  Wall  Street  mag- 
nate— was  expected  to  lead  an  idle  life.  What  was 
the  good  of  so  much  money  if  it  was  not  to  be  spent? 
But  in  spite  of  Howard's  wild  life,  there  was 
something  underlying  it  all  that  would,  if  he  had 
admitted  it,  proclaimed  him  the  son  of  his  mother 
also,  and  there  was  not  a  little  of  Marjorie's  Puri- 
tanism lying  dormant  in  the  subconsciousness  of  her 
son.  Howard's  reaction  now  to  what  his  sister  had 
told  him  of  where  she  was  going  and  her  admission 
of  the  deception  she  had  practiced  in  order  to  do  as 
she  pleased  rather  amazed  him,  as  much  as  the  facts 
themselves  disturbed  him.  Who  was  he,  he  thought, 
to  censor  anyone?  But  with  Druid  it  was  different. 
Elinor  was  his  sister.  It  was  his  duty  to  see  that 
she  was  not  led  into  anything  or  any  place  where 
harm  could  reach  her.  He  had  been  right  in  telling 
her  he  knew  all  about  Templeton  Druid  and  the 
manner  of  man  the  actor  was.  His  fine  eyebrows 
knit  in  perplexity  as  he  considered  the  matter.  It 
would  not  do  to  let  Elinor  go  on.  Quite  fully  he 
realized  that.  But  equally  well  he  realized  that  no 
word  of  his  would  in  the  least  turn  her  from  the 
path  she  had  chosen.  It  was  obviously  a  case  where 

162 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT        163 

he  would  have  to  play  tale  bearer,  no  matter  how 
angry  his  sister  might  be. 

He  crunched  out  the  lighted  end  of  his  cigarette 
with  a  force  that  showed  his  mind  made  up,  rose 
and  crossed  the  room. 

"Griggs!"  he  called  down  the  hallway.  "Is  dad 
upstairs?" 

"No,  Mr.  Howard,"  was  the  reply.  "Mr.  Benton 
didn't  come  home  for  dinner — I  believe  he  said  he 
would  remain  at  the  club." 

Howard  turned  in  the  direction  of  his  mother's 
room.  But  before  he  had  gone  many  steps  thought 
better  of  it  and  turned  about,  muttering  to  himself. 

"No,  she  wouldn't  understand — I'll  see  dad  to- 
morrow." 

Nell  Thurston's  jolly  and  interesting  companion- 
ship drove  all  thoughts  of  Elinor  from  his  mind, 
and  it  was  not  until  they  were  seated  in  The  Clar- 
idge,  having  dinner,  that  he  was  unexpectedly  re- 
minded of  her  again. 

"I  feel  so  wonderfully  independent  to-night," 
Nell  laughed.  "Just  imagine,  this  is  the  first  time 
I  have  ever  been  out  with  a  gentleman  unchaper- 
oned;  but  mother  and  dad,  having  known  you  ever 
since  you  were  a  youngster,  feel  toward  you  as  if 
you  were  my  brother." 

"Well,  I  sure  do  feel  complimented  to  think  they 
have  confidence  enough  in  me  to  trust  me  with  their 
precious  child,"  he  rejoined  laughingly.  "I  didn't 
know  your  folks  went  in  so  much  for  all  this  pro- 
priety stuff." 

"Mother's  not  nearly  as  strict  as  dad.  I  could 
reason  with  her  easily,"  she  sighed,  "but  dad  is  so 
set  in  his  ideas." 

"Isn't  that  funny?  It's  just  the  reverse  in  our 
family.  Dad's  dead  easy — it's  mother  who  is  the 
difficult  one." 


i64       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

"Oh — I  know — Elinor's  talked  enough  about  it," 
Nell  replied.  "Your  mother  may  have  her  peculiar- 
ities, but  just  the  same,  I  admire  her,  because  she 
has  the  courage  to  stand  by  her  convictions.  By  the 
way,  how  does  she  feel  about  Elinor  and  Templeton 
Druid — or  doesn't  she  know  about  him  yet?" 

"Why,  what  is  there  to  know  about  Elinor  and 
Druid?"  Howard  turned  to  face  her,  as  surprised 
as  he  was  anxious. 

"Heavens !  I  hope  I  haven't  put  my  foot  into  it !" 
Nell  pursed  up  her  lips,  and  gave  her  attention  to 
her  hors  d'ceuvre.  "I  thought  you  surely  knew! 
Isn't  he  a  particular  friend  of  yours?" 

"Know  what?"  he  demanded.  There  was  a 
grimness  in  the  boy's  tone  that  worried  the  girl. 

"What's  the  excitement?"  she  answered  crossly. 
"Gracious,  you  don't  have  to  shout  at  me  like  that. 
There  isn't  anything  dreadful  to  know,  only  that 
Elinor  and  Templeton  are  going  about  together  a 
great  deal,  and  that  she's  simply  mad  about  him." 

"I  hadn't  even  an  idea  that  they  were  seeing  each 
other  until  this  evening,"  he  replied,  and  then  he 
told  her  about  the  argument  he  had  had  with  Elinor 
just  before  she  went  out. 

"What's  the  matter  with  the  little  fool?"  Nell  de- 
manded angrily.  "Wouldn't  you  think  if  she  were 
going  to  use  me  as  an  excuse  to  get  out,  she'd  at 
least  have  the  decency  to  tell  me  about  it.  Suppos- 
ing your  mother  should  take  a  notion  to  call  up  my 
house — she'd  be  bound  to  find  out." 

"Mother  will  never  think  of  calling  your  house." 
he  assured  her.  "She'll  be  in  bed  by  nine  o'clock. 
There  isn't  any  reason  why  she  should  suspect  Elinor 
of  not  dining  with  you,  is  there?" 

"No — none  that  I  know  of — but  just  the  same 
you  never  can  tell  what  might  happen.  I'll  warn 
Elinor  to-morrow  never  to  use  my  name  again  unless 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       165 

she  is  willing  to  take  me  into  her  confidence  in  ad- 
vance so  that  I  can  at  least  be  prepared  to  meet  an 
emergency,  should  it  arrive." 

"That  won't  be  necessary,  Nell,"  Howard  said 
quickly.  "I'll  see  that  Elinor  doesn't  meet  him  after 
to-night!"  The  tight  line  of  his  lips  as  he  made  his 
affirmation  showed  that  Howard  Benton  meant 
what  he  said. 

At  the  theater  later,  his  mind  was  miles  away. 
Somehow,  he  couldn't  rid  his  thoughts  of  Elinor. 
As  soon  as  he  had  taken  Nell  home,  he  ordered  the 
taxi  to  return  to  town  and  take  him  to  the  club.  He 
would  probably  find  his  father  there,  and  he  would 
tell  him  without  delay  about  these  clandestine  meet- 
ings. 

But  Howard  Benton  did  not  find  his  father  at  his 
club.  He  found  friends,  though,  and  while  he  was 
enjoying  his  drinks  with  them  could  he  have  seen 
and  heard  his  father  at  that  hour,  he  would  have 
had  more  to  disturb  him  over  cataclysms  imminent 
in  his  own  family  than  he  was  disturbed  by  his  sister's 
friendship  for  the  Broadway  prodigal  Druid. 

For  him,  Hugh  Benton  had  returned  home  early. 

"Griggs,"  he  ordered,  as  the  man  took  his  hat  and 
stick,  "will  you  go  to  Mrs.  Benton's  room  and 
ask  her  please  to  come  to  me  in  the  library?" 

As  he  waited  for  her,  he  fidgeted  uneasily.  This 
night,  he  believed  was  to  be  a  great  climax  in  his 
life.  He  wondered  how  Marjorie  would  act,  how 
she  would  feel  (he  could  not,  even  in  his  selfishness 
engendered  and  nurtured  by  Geraldine  DeLacy 
through  the  past  weeks  keep  from  one  thought  of 
this  kind) — what  she  would  say.  Oh,  well,  he 
might  as  well  make  up  his  mind  that  whatever  she 
would  say  it  would  be  unpleasant.  But  it  would  be 
for  the  last  time.  So  thoroughly  had  his  selfish 
•desires  gained  a  hold  on  the  man  who  had  once  been 


1 66       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

so  stanch  and  upright  that  the  time  had  come  when 
he  could  wait  no  longer.  But  just  how  much  of  his 
impatience  was  due  to  the  subtle  urging  of  Geraldine 
DeLacy  even  he  did  not  know.  So  he  waited  nerv- 
ously, picking  up  a  book  here,  an  ornament  there, 
examining  the  intricacies  of  the  carved  woodwork 
during  what  seemed  the  unconscionable  time  it  took 
Marjorie  to  appear. 

But  his  wife  had  not  kept  him  waiting.  Instead, 
so  unusual  had  been  the  request  that  Griggs  pur- 
veyed to  her  that  she  rose  at  once,  placed  the  book 
she  had  been  reading  on  the  table,  and  hurried  down. 

Hugh  lost  no  time.  He  did  not  mean  to  mince 
matters  in  this  interview. 

"Marjorie,"  he  began  at  once  when  she  stood 
before  him  inquiringly.  "I'll  not  keep  you  long. 
What  I  have  to  say  may  be  said  quickly,  but  the 
time  has  come  to  say  it  and  I  hope  you'll  be  rea- 
sonable." 

Marjorie  sat  down  quietly.  "Yes,  Hugh,"  she 
replied,  outwardly  calm  enough,  but  seized  with  a 
nervous  inward  trembling. 

Hugh  dropped  the  cigar  he  had  been  picking  to 
pieces,  crossed  over  and  stood  facing  her,  his  arms 
folded  across  his  chest. 

"Marjorie,  you  know  just  as  well  as  I  do,"  he 
went  directly  to  the  point,  "that  you  and  I  haven't 
been  congenial  for  a  very  long  time." 

"I  tried  to  remedy  it,  though,  Hugh,"  she  an- 
swered quickly,  "only  a  short  time  ago,  but  you 
refused  to  meet  me  even  half  way." 

Her  husband's  brows  contracted  in  annoyance. 

"I  told  you  at  that  time  that  it  was  entirely  too 
late,"  was  his  impatient  comment.  "Your  years  of 
indifference  have  killed  something  inside  of  me  that 
nothing,  can  ever  bring  to  life  again." 

"I — I  don't  understand,"  she  ventured  feebly,  and 


THE  VALLEY  OE  CONTENT       167 

the  sobs  she  Had  sought  to  hold  back  shook  her 
slender  frame.  The  sight  but  annoyed  the  man  the. 
more. 

"Please  refrain  from  creating  a  scene,"  he  ad- 
monished coldly.  "It  will  not  in  the  least  facilitate 
matters." 

Hopeless  as  she  felt  it  in  her  innermost  being  to 
be,  Marjorie  Benton  felt  that  she  must  struggle  with 
all  her  might  through  one  other  battle  in  an  effort 
to  keep  her  husband — he  who  was  all  in  the  world 
to  her,  though  he  so  little  realized  it. 

She  looked  up  at  him,  her  hands  clasped  tightly 
for  self-control  (Hugh  always  did  so  dislike  tears, 
she  remembered),  her  eyes  pleading. 

"Surely,  Hugh  dear,"  she  begged,  "you  cannot 
mean  what  you  are  saying!  You  cannot  mean  that 
your  love  for  me  is  so  wholly  dead — why,  think  of 
all  the  years — "  Hugh  turned  his  face  indifferently 
away — "no  small  thing  like  different  tastes  and  be- 
liefs could  make  them  count  for  nothing,  I  know — 
Oh,  Hugh !"  and  a  wail  crept  into  the  pleading  voice, 
"can  it  be — was  I  right  after  all?  Is  it — is  it — that 
• — woman?" 

Hugh  Benton  kicked  at  the  rug  under  his  feet.  He 
could  not  bring  himself  at  first  to  look  into  the  face 
of  his  suffering  wife.  Then  his  shoulders  straight- 
ened and  his  level  glance  came  to  meet  her  defiantly. 
His  words  were  cold,  calm. 

"If  you  are  referring  to  Mrs.  DeLacy,"  he  ob- 
served, "then  let  me  tell  you,  that  you  yourself  were 
the  indirect  cause  of  forcing  me  into  the  realization 
of  all  that  she  meant  to  me." 

"You  expect  me  to  believe  that,  Hugh?"  There 
was  a  suggestion  of  a  sneer  on  her  drawn  lips. 

"Believe  it,  or  not,  as  you  please,"  he  answered 
nonchalantly,  "but  up  to  the  afternoon  when  you 


i68       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

took  it  upon  yourself  so  unjustly  to  insult  her,  I 
had  merely  liked  and  admired  Mrs.  DeLacy." 

"Indeed!  I  am  consumed  with  curiosity  to  know 
just  how  /  happened  to  play  the  role  of  Cupid  in 
your  love  affair?"  Marjorie  Benton's  dignity  was 
coming  to  her  aid. 

"Sarcasm  won't  succeed  in  getting  us  anywhere, 
Marjorie,"  was  Hugh's  stern  comment.  "Yours 
has  lost  the  power  to  sting  me  in  the  least.  But  if 

E)u  wish  to  know,  after  you  had  treated  Mrs.  De- 
acy  so  shamefully,  I  called  upon  her  the  following 
evening,  determined  to  offer  some  excuse  for  you," 
he  went  on  serenely.  "It  was  then  that  we  discov- 
ered for  the  first  time  our  exact  sentiments  toward 
one  another." 

"How  delightfully  romantic!"  The  wife  laughed 
hysterically.  "You — you  really  are  foolish  enough 
to  think  she  cares  for  you?  You  are  a  rich  man, 
Hugh.'; 

His  impatience  increased.  "Please  permit  me  to 
be  the  judge,"  he  advised,  in  a  satisfied  manner.  "I 
want  to  be  perfectly  frank  and  honest  with  you, 
Marjorie — that  is  why  I  have  stated  the  absolute 
truth  to  you." 

She  shook  her  head  as  she  replied  bitterly:  "You 
are  indeed  kind  to  me." 

"I  don't  want  to  be  cruel,  but  I  see  that  you  refuse 
to  permit  me  to  be  anything  else,"  he  snapped  im- 
patiently. "The  problem  is  this:  I  love  her!  What 
are  you  going  to  do  about  it?" 

"What  do  you  expect  me  to  do?"  She  shuddere'd 
and  closed  her  eyes. 

"Well,  I  thought — perhaps — "  He  found  it  a 
difficult  thing  to  say  in  spite  of  himself,  "couldn't 
we — er — come  to  some  agreement,  say,  whereby  you 
would  consent  to  a — a  divorce?" 

"A — a  divorce — Oh — no — no — I  don't  believe  in 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT        169 

divorce!"  Marjorie  Benton's  voice  rose  hysterically. 
But  her  husband  was  not  to  be  swayed  from  his 
purpose. 

"But  surely,  Marjorie,"  he  reasoned,  "you 
wouldn't  care  to  continue  living  under  the  same  roof 
with  me — knowing  that  I  love — another  woman?" 

"Have  you  thought  of  the  children,  at  all?"  She 
grasped  at  the  suggestion  of  the  dreadful  scandal 
this  thing  would  be  bound  to  create,  knowing  as  she 
did,  Hugh's  horror  of  anything  of  the  sort. 

Parrot-like,  Hugh  Benton  repeated  the  exact 
words  of  Geraldine  DeLacy  as  she  had  expounded 
her  philosophy  of  life  to  him,  but  had  anyone  told 
him  that  he  was  so  swayed  into  unconscious  repeti- 
tion, he  would  have  denied  it  with  indignation. 
Hugh  Benton  was  fond  of  declaring  he  was  a  man 
with  a  mind  of  his  own.  So,  at  the  reference  to  his 
children,  he  turned  and  told  her  with  calm  dignity: 

"For  once  in  my  life  I  am  thinking  only  of  myself 
and  my  own  happiness,  Marjorie.  Up  to  now  I 
have  always  considered  others,  but  I  can't  see  that 
it  has  brought  me  very  much." 

"And  yet  I  can  remember  you  telling  me,"  she 
hastened  to  remind  him,  "that  the  only  real  happi- 
ness in  life  could  be  derived  through  helping  others." 

"If  I  said  that,  it  must  have  been  a  great  many 
years  ago — before  I  became  disillusioned."  The 
retort  was  bitter. 

Marjorie  Benton  rose  and  herself  stooped  to  pick 
up  the  shredded  handkerchief  she  had  dropped. 
There  was  a  hauteur  in  her  manner  that  conveyed 
her  belief  that  humiliation  had  gone  far  enough. 
She  must  put  an  end  to  the  scene  before  her  tautened 
nerves  snapped  and  she  became  a  driveling  sup- 
pliant at  the  feet  of  the  husband  who  was  so  cruelly 
telling  her  he  had  done  with  her — that  he  loved 
another. 


170       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

"Don't  you  think  we've  said  enough  for  one 
evening,  Hugh?"  she  queried.  "We  don't  appear 
to  be  getting  anywhere,  as  you  put  it,  and — and  I 
might  as  well  tell  you,"  and  the  emphasis  of  her 
utterance  left  no  room  for  doubt,  "I  will  never  con- 
sent to  a  divorce!  Treat  me  as  you  please — do 
anything  you  please — I  shall  always  remain  Mrs. 
Hugh  Benton!" 

She  started  to  brush  by  him,  but  he  caught 
roughly  at  her  arm  as  she  swept  by.  She  stopped, 
startled  at  the  fury  in  his  face. 

"But  that  is  so  thoroughly  unreasonable,"  he 
urged  querulously.  "You  haven't  cared  for  me  in 
years.  You  want  to  hold  me  now,  just  because 
someone  else  has  come  into  my  life." 

"Suppose  I  were  to  tell  you  that  I  do  care  for 
you.  What  then?"  she  asked  slowly,  contem- 
platively. 

"I  shouldn't  believe  you!  Oh,  Marjorie,  please 
listen  to  me.  Doesn't  it  seem  foolish  to  wreck  both 
of  our  lives?  I  intend  being  more  than  fair  with 
you.  I  will  settle  three-quarters  of  my  fortune  upon 
you." 

Marjorie's  lips  curved  in  a  slow  smile.  "And 
what  does  Mrs.  DeLacy  say  to  that?"  was  her  query. 

"Why  we  haven't  even  discussed  such  a  thing." 

"Well,  then,  go  to  her,"  she  commanded,  "tell 
her  exactly  just  what  you  propose  doing,  and  see  if 
the  fervor  of  her  devotion  remains  the  same." 

"And  if  it  does — what  then?" 

"I  will  be  reasonable  enough  to  acknowledge  that 
I  have  misjudged  that — er — Mrs.  DeLacy." 

"And  what  will  you  do?"  he  asked  eagerly. 

She  faced  him  proudly:  "I  will  still  remain — Mrs. 
Hugh  Benton." 

Hugh  fairly  glared  as  his  wife  swept  triumphantly 
toward  the  door.  "So  that  is  your  attitude,  is  it?" 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT        171 

He  frothed,  and  he  had  reached  the  open  portal 
before  her.  From  outside,  he  hurled  back  his  ulti- 
matum. "Well,  then,  I  shall  be  forced  to  use  other 
methods.  I  am  determined  to  gain  my  freedom, 
and  you  can  rest  assured  I  will  manage  it  in  spite 
of  you!" 

Still  fighting  for  the  dignity  and  self-control  that 
had  deserted  her,  Marjorie  Benton  stood  still  where 
he  had  left  her  for  moments,  her  hand  pressed  to 
her  heart.  The  tension  broke.  She  swayed  back 
and  forth,  staggering  to  the  davenport.  In  its  com- 
forting depths  she  sank  down,  sobbing  hysterically. 

"Oh,  I  can't  bear  it — I  can't  bear  it,"  she  moaned 
over  and  over  again.  Fully,  completely,  now  that 
she  was  about  to  lose  her  husband,  Marjorie  Ben- 
ton  realized  how  much  she  loved  him.  What  a  fool 
she  had  been  to  allow  her  pride  and  her  silly  am- 
bitions to  come  between  them.  Her  thoughts  trav- 
eled back  over  the  years  to  the  time  she  was  a 
happy  wife  and  mother  in  her  humble  little  cottage. 
She  buried  her  head  in  the  pillows,  endeavoring  to 
crush  out  the  memories — memories  that  burned  and 
scarred.  She  thought  her  brain  on  fire.  With 
futile  fists  she  beat  the  air,  her  one  moan  that  this 
thing  could  not  be  true. 

In  a  frenzy  she  sprang  to  her  feet  and  began  to 
pace  the  floor.  Up  and  down — up  and  down — she 
walked  like  an  animal  at  bay,  trying  to  peer  into  the 
darkness  that  seemed  stretched  before  her.  There 
might  be  years — God! — think  of  it! — Years  of 
loneliness  and  heartaches  waiting  for  her! 

Thoroughly  exhausted,  physically  and  mentally, 
she  sat  down  heavily.  Her  brain  refused  to  think 
any  longer.  Hot,  bitter  tears  rained  down  her 
cheeks,  and  then,  without  the  slightest  warning, 
she  began  to  laugh,  at  first  almost  inaudibly,  then 
loud  and  wildly.  What  a  huge  joke  life  had  seen 


172       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

fit  to  play  upon  her.  She  had  passed  years  of  un- 
happiness  without  uttering  a  single  protest,  sacrific- 
ing everything  for  her  children,  and  it  had  brought 
her — this ! 

In  the  hallway  outside,  Griggs  heard  the  strange 
cachinnations.  He  came  running  in. 

"What  is  it,  Mrs.  Benton?"  he  inquired  anxiously. 

"Why — why — "  she  began,  looking  at  him  in 
bewilderment. 

"You're  here  all  alone,  and  laughing  so.  Are  you 
ill?" 

"111?  Why  no — I'm  all  right.  Only  something 
struck  me  as  being  very  funny.  We  don't  have  to 
read  the  comic  sections  of  the  papers,  Griggs.  All 
we  have  to  do  is  look  for  the  comedy  in  our  own 
lives." 

"Yes — Madame — I  suppose  so.  But  don't  you 
think  you  had  better  let  me  send  for  Marie?  She 
will  help  you  to  your  room.  You  are " 

"No,  Griggs,  I'll  pull  myself  together  in  a  mo- 
ment, and  I'm  not  going  to  my  room.  I  shall  wait 
here  until  Miss  Elinor  or  Mr.  Howard  come  in." 

"But  it  is  only  ten-thirty,"  Griggs  protested,  "and 
they  may  not  come  for  hours." 

"Miss  Elinor  is  bound  to  come  in  early.  She  is 
at  the  Thurstons'.  Just  put  another  log  on  the  fire, 
and  I'll  wait." 

"Very  well,  Madame,"  Griggs  attended  to  the 
fire,  and  left  the  room,  turning  as  he  reached  the 
door.  "I  shall  be  just  outside  should  you  wish 
me." 

"Thank  you,  Griggs,"  she  murmured,  gazing  in- 
tently into  the  flames. 

With  only  a  dulled  pain  she  was  able  to  visualize 
what  Hugh  was  doing,  where  he  had  gone  since  he 
left  her.  Her  instinct  told  her  he  had  gone  straight 
to  Geraldine  DeLacy.  And,  right  as  is  so  often  the 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT        173 

case  with  a  woman  who  loves,  Marjorie  Benton's 
instinct  had  been  right. 

Straight  as  a  homing  pigeon,  the  infatuated  man 
had  rushed  from  the  room  where  he  had  had  his 
aggravating  and  unsatisfactory  interview  with  his 
wife,  and,  waiting  long  enough  only  to  telephone  to 
be  sure  that  she  was  in,  he  had  hurried  to  the  woman 
who  had  taken  his  wife's  place  in  his  affections.  No 
thought  of  the  pain  of  the  woman  he  had  left  be- 
hind. Only  an  eagerness  to  be  with  the  new  love 
— to  hear  her  soft  voice  whisper  words  of  love  and 
compassion,  to  tell  him  there  was  nought  else  in  the 
world  beside  their  love,  to  reassure  him  he  had  been 
right. 

Geraldine  DeLacy,  alone,  as  she  told  him,  since 
the  Thurstons  were  in  Atlantic  City  and  Nell,  the 
daughter  of  the  house,  was  out  with  Hugh's  own 
son,  carefully  hung  up  the  receiver  after  her  tele- 
phonic interview  and  rushed  to  arrange  her  hair 
and  to  slip  into  a  becoming  negligee.  From  Hugh's 
tone,  she  knew  that  something  was  wrong.  She  did 
not  need  his  further  assurance  that  he  was  "fright- 
fully upset,"  but  she  shrewdly  suspected  the  reason 
for  his  being  so. 

She  had  known  right  along  that  Marjorie  would 
prove  difficult,  but  Hugh  had  been  so  sure  of  being 
able  to  reason  with  her.  "Like  all  men,"  she 
thought  impatiently,  "he  believes  he  can  handle 
any  situation.  Hmph !  Men!"  There  was  a  deep 
sarcasm  in  the  gesture  with  which  she  shook  out  a 
clinging  flounce.  One  thing  she  was  assured  of, 
however.  She  must  be  cautious  and  most  tactful  in 
everything  she  said  to  him,  as  he  would  probably 
be  in  a  trying  mood. 

She  met  him  with  an  encouraging  smile:  "What 
has  happened,  dear?  I  have  been  terribly  worried 
about  you.  You  seem  so  unnerved!" 


i74       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

"Darling  1"  he  replied.  "My  one  comfort  in  a 
comfortless  world!"  He  took  her  in  his  arms  and 
kissed  her  tenderly.  "I've  been  through  a  dreadful 
scene — I  just  had  to  come  to  you  to  talk  it  over." 

"There,  there,"  she  soothed  him,  "everything  is 
bound  to  be  all  right.  Sit  here  beside  me  and  tell 
me  all  about  it." 

"Well — I  went  to  Marjorie  to-night,  as  we  dis- 
cussed doing," — Geraldine  smiled  inwardly  when  she 
remembered  who  it  was  who  had  suggested  the  in- 
terview,— "and  asked  her  to  divorce  me." 

"Yes  —  and  — ?"  The  young  widow's  hand 
trembled  beneath  his. 

Hugh  threw  out  his  hands  impatiently.  "She 
positively  refuses  to  give  me  my  freedom,  and  you 
know  that  I,  myself,  haven't  a  chance  in  the  world 
of  obtaining  it." 

"What  did  she  say — what  reasons  did  she  give?" 
Geraldine  purred  softly  to  hide  her  chagrin. 

"Oh,  she  used  every  argument  available,"  was  the 
despairing  reply.  "Said  she  loved  me  and  was  anx- 
ious to  start  life  anew.  Then  she  brought  up  the 
children — their  futures,  and  what  this  scandal  would 
mean  to  them." 

"Perhaps  you  went  about  it  in  the  wrong  way. 
You  may  have  been  harsh  when  you  should  have 
been  gentle,"  she  ventured. 

"I  tried  hard  to  control  myself  and  reason  with 
her,  and  I  didn't  actually  lose  my  temper  until  she 
intimated  that  you  didn't  care  about  me — it  was 
only  my  money." 

"How  dared  she  say  that?"  Geraldine  sat  up  in- 
dignantly. "What  have  I  ever  done  that  has  given 
her  the  right  to  consider  me  mercenary?" 

"It  was  in  answer  to  a  proposition  of  mine." 

"What  was  it?"  She  leaned  toward  him  anx- 
iously. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       175 

"I  tried  to — to  bribe  her,"  he  confessed,  some- 
what shamefully.  "I  offered  to  settle  a — a  very 
large  amount  upon  her,  if  she  would  consent  to  free 
me.  She  jumped  up  excitedly  and  asked  me  what 
you  had  to  say  to  that." 

"Yes— yes— and ?" 

"I  told  her  I  hadn't  even  discussed  it  with  you, 
and  then  she  said  I  should  go  to  you  and  tell  you 
what  I  proposed  doing,  and  I  should  soon  see 
whether  or  not  your  devotion  remained  the  same." 

"So  that  is  her  opinion  of  me?"  Geraldine  De- 
Lacy's  eyes  flashed  dangerously.  "Well,  you  can 
tell  her  from  me — that  I'd  marry  you  to-morrow, 
Hugh  Benton,  if  you  hadn't  a  dollar  in  the  world!" 

"My  own  darling!"  he  exclaimed,  as  his  arms 
went  out  and  he  held  her  close  to  him.  "I  knew  it 
— I  knew  it." 

She  lay  in  his  arms  passively  submitting  to  his 
caresses,  but  inwardly  she  boiled  with  rage.  So 
Marjorie  Benton  thought  she  could  spoil  her  game, 
did  she!  Well — they  should  see — they  should  see! 
The  cleverest  one  in  this  case  would  have  the  last 
laugh. 

"I  am  so  grateful  for  your  wonderful  love,  dear," 
he  whispered,  "and  had  Marjorie  considered  my 
proposition,  I  should  still  have  plenty  left  with  which 
to  surround  you  with  all  the  luxury  you  so  richly 
deserve." 

"Oh,"  she  breathed,  "as  if  that  mattered!"  But 
the  light  in  her  eyes  shone  radiantly  as  a  weight  of 
lead  dropped  from  her  heart. 

"I  shall  have  a  talk  with  my  attorney  to-morrow, 
an'd  see  what  he  advises,"  Hugh  assured  her. 
"There  must  be  some  way  to  go  about  this  thing." 

"Perhaps  when  you  tell  your  wife  that  it  is  not 
your  money  I  care  about,  as  she  seems  to  think,  she 
may  reconsider  her  decision." 


"My  dear,  I  wouldn't  allow  her  to  think  for  a 
moment  that  I  had  even  mentioned  her  miserable 
suspicions  to  you."  He  pulled  out  his  watch.  "It 
is  growing  late  and  I  must  hurry  along  before  Nell 
and  Howard  return.  I'll  telephone  you  to-morrow. 
Good-night,  dearest." 

She  clung  to  him  tenderly:  "You  are  so  strong 
and  forceful,"  was  her  farewell,  "your  arms  seem 
like  a  haven  of  refuge." 

He  felt  that  he  could  not  bear  to  return  home, 
so  he  ordered  his  chauffeur  to  drive  to  one  of  his 
clubs.  Never  again  would  he  return  home  until  he 
and  Marjorie  had  reached  some  sort  of  compromise. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

HOWARD  BENTpN'S  wait  for  his  father  had 
been  as  futile  as  it  was  long.  At  first  he  had 
sat  slumped  in  a  chair  grumpily,  watching  the 
door  impatiently  for  each  new  arrival,  his  whole 
attention  given  to  this  new  emotion  of  his,  this  wak- 
ening to  duty  and  his  new  sense  of  responsibility 
toward  his  sister.  Where  in  the  world  could  his  dad 
be?  He  ought  to  be  there  right  then  listening  to 
what  he,  Howard,  had  to  divulge.  No  telling  what 
Elinor  was  doing  by  now!  She  was  such  a  silly — 
such  a  headstrong 

The  clap  of  Woods  Thorndyke's  hand  on  his 
shoulder  in  no  light  fashion  awakened  him  from  his 
reverie. 

"Come  out  of  it,  old  top!"  exclaimed  the  new- 
comer cheerily.  "What's  on  the  youngster's  mind? 
Come  on  up  to  the  card  room.  One  of  the  chaps 
has  some  of  his  dad's  best  private  stock  and  you'll 
just  fit  in  for  a  rubber!" 

Howard  shook  his  head. 

"No,  thanks,  Thorn,  old  boy,"  he  declared,  "no 
time  for  cards  to-night — got  an  engagement — with 
my  own  dad!" 

"Oh,  come  on,"  urged  the  other,  "you  can  get 
your  call  down  any  old  time,  and  a  nice  little  game 
— one  rubber " 

But  the  Benton  heir  was  firm  about  one  thing. 
His  head  shake  was  more  decided  than  ever. 

"No — nary  a  rub — "  he  declared  with  positive- 
ness,  "but,"  and  he  wavered  a  little  as  he  eyed  his 
companion.  Really,  he  began  to  feel  sorry  for  him- 
self. What  right  did  Elinor  have  to  get  him 

177 


178       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

all  wrought  up  like  this.  He  felt  that  by  now  he 
needed,  most  likely  deserved,  a  drink.  "But,"  he 
went  on  brightening  a  little,  "I  believe  I  could  use 
a  little  shot  or  so!" 

And  one  or  two  in  that  congenial  company  of  his 
boon  companions  led  to  more  and  more,  until  by  two 
o'clock  he  had  quite  forgotten  all  about  Elinor,  for- 
gotten many  things,  in  fact,  save  his  determination 
not  to  enter  a  card  game  which  might  last  intermi- 
nable hours.  Somewhere  in  his  hazy  consciousness 
it  was  borne  in  on  him  that  he  had  an  important 
engagement  with  his  father,  but  he  could  not  just 
think  what  it  was  about. 

He  made  a  trip  to  the  smoking  room  and  learned 
that  his  father  had  neither  been  seen  nor  heard  from. 
Oh,  well,  whatever  it  was  he  was  going  to  talk  to 
'dad  about  would  have  to  wait.  He  was  tired;  he 
was  going  home. 

He  started  for  the  hat  room.  Just  outside  the 
door  two  chaps  were  talking.  Both  of  them  he  knew 
well,  but  the  "Hello"  he  had  almost  hurled  at  them 
was  frozen  on  his  lips  at  a  name  he  heard.  In  a 
twinkling  the  haziness  disappeared.  He  knew  why 
he  had  been  waiting.  He  stepped  back  into  the 
shadow  of  a  potted  palm  and  listened  without  com- 
punction. 

"Elinor  Benton!"  was  the  exclamation  he  heard. 
"You  can't  be  serious.  She'd  never  fall  for  that 
fourflusher,  Druid." 

"But  I  tell  you  they're  everywhere  together,"  the 
other  replied.  "I  meet  them  driving  in  the  park 
nearly  every  day,  she  at  the  wheel,  and  often  his  arm 
about  her.  I've  seen  them  coming  out  of  inns  and 
roadhouses,  rather  questionable  ones  too — if  you'll 
take  it  from  me.  I'm  surprised  her  people  stand  for 
it." 

"Perhaps  they  don't  know  anything  about  it,  and 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       179 

if  they  do,  they  may  look  upon  it  as  a  harmless  flirta- 


tion." 


"Harmless  flirtation  1"  The  man  laughed. 
"Knowing  Druid  as  well  as  you  do,  I  can't  see  how 
you  could  ever  imagine  a  flirtation  with  him  harm- 
less." 

"Oh — well  then,"  came  the  answer,  "maybe  he 
intends  to  marry  her.  He  could  do  a  lot  worse,  you 
know,  than  to  fall  in  for  some  of  the  Benton  money." 

"I  agree  with  you,  and  no  doubt  he  does  too,  but 
I  know  it  will  take  some  time  before  he  is  free.  His 
wife  is  suing  him  for  divorce  now." 

"What!"  the  other  exclaimed.  "I  never  knew 
he  had  a  wife." 

"It  isn't  generally  known  for  business  reasons. 
Those  theater  chappies  consider  him  a  more  profit- 
able investment  unmarried.  I  happen  to  know, 
though,  that  he  married  a  little  chorus  girl  about 
six  years  ago  somewhere  in  the  Middle  West." 

"Where  is  she  now?" 

"They  couldn't  get  along  together,  so," — and  out- 
spread hands  finished  the  sentence.  "She's  out  on 
the  Coast  now,  working  in  pictures,  and  is  interested 
in  someone  else — hence,  the  divorce  proceedings." 

Howard  stepped  forth  from  his  place  of  conceal- 
ment. His  eyes  blazed  like  coals  of  fire  in  his  gray 
face. 

"Benton!"  came  the  disturbed  exclamation. 

"  'Sail  right,  boys."  He  smiled  feebly.  "You 
didn't  know  I  was  there." 

"Oh — I'm  sorry,  Benton,"  Frank  Crimmins  as- 
sured him  earnestly  as  he  stepped  forward.  "I  feel 
like  a  silly  gossiping  woman.  Please  don't  pay  any 
attention  to  what  I've  said." 

"On  the  contrary,  I  think  you've  done  me  a 
service.  You  see,  I  hadn't  any  idea  that  Druid  was 
a  married  man." 


I8o   THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

"Didn't  you  know  that  he  has  been  rather  frienclly 
with  your  sister?" 

"The  news  of  his  friendship  for  my  sister  has 
come  to  me  only  to-night  through  three  different 
sources.  Now,  I  am  going  to  get  it  directly  from 
his  own  lips,"  he  announced  ominously. 

Crimmins  endeavored  to  restrain  him:  "Wait  a 
minute,  Benton,  don't  make  a  fool  of  yourself! 
You're  not  in  a  condition  to  see  anyone  right  now 
— wait  until  to-morrow." 

"I'm  going  now."  He  brushed  aside  the  friendly 
detaining  hand  and  demanded  his  things  from  the 
coat-boy.  "I'll  show  him  that  he  can't  juggle  with 
my  sister's  reputation  and  get  away  with  it." 

"The  hot-headed  young  idiot,"  Crimmins  said, 
as  Howard  rushed  from  the  club.  "I  suppose  he'll 
go  up  to  Druid's  and  attempt  to  mop  up  the  place 
with  him." 

"Feel  sorry  for  him  if  he  does,"  the  other  replied 
with  a  meaning  grin.  "He'll  get  the  worst  of  it — 
Druid's  some  athlete." 

Crimmins  was  still  conscience-stricken.  "Perhaps 
we  should  have  gone  with  him?"  he  suggested. 

"Nonsense!  Take  my  advice  and  always  keep 
out  of  other  people's  quarrels.  Come  on,  have 
another  ball,  and  then  I'm  going  to  turn  in." 

It  was  midnight  when  Elinor  Benton  arrived  at 
Templeton  Druid's  studio  apartment — a  delightful 
hour,  she  thought,  shivering  deliciously,  to  be  arriv- 
ing anywhere,  and  unaccompanied.  Since  she  had 
made  her  debut,  it  was  not  at  all  unusual  for  her 
to  be  dancing  in  the  small  hours  and  twelve  o'clock 
usually  saw  the  top  of  the  excitement.  But  always 
she  had  conventionally  arrived  at  dance  or  reception 
or  whatever  gayety  along  with  those  of  all  her  set  at 
much  more  seasonable  hours.  Templeton  and  all 
his  friends  were  so  excitingly  (different.  But  still 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT        181 

when  she  had  thrown  aside  her  ermine  wrap  with 
the  solicitous  aid  of  her  hero  himself,  who  did 
not  neglect  to  give  her  arm  an  affectionate  squeeze, 
she  found  herself,  among  the  bizarre  appointments 
of  the  actor's  home — and  his  astonishingly  elated 
and  at  ease  guests,  a  bit  diffident  and  shy.  But  not 
for  long.  For  an  ingenue,  Elinor  Benton  found  she 
was  able  with  great  ease  to  adapt  herself  to  the 
unfamiliar  atmosphere.  Perhaps  it  may  have  been 
something  in  the  wierd  lighting  effects;  perhaps  the 
subtle  perfume  of  the  Orient  that  rose  in  hazy  fumes 
from  swinging  censers,  the  dim  reflection  of  the 
lighted  sconces  on  mirrors  that  made  the  restless 
guests  seem  figures  in  a  pageant  and  far  off,  with 
eerie  faces  that  so  effectually  drowned  her  diffidence 
and  made  her  senses  whirl  with  abandon  like  the 
fumes  of  a  heady  wine.  Or  maybe  it  was  the  pos- 
sessive, lover-like  attitude  of  Templeton  Druid  him- 
self that  bade  her  throw  aside  stilted  convention  and 
become  one  of  those  with  whom  her  hero  surrounded 
himself.  However,  it  may  have  been,  Elinor  Ben- 
ton,  debutante,  at  the  end  of  ten  minutes  of  her  first 
visit  to  Templeton  Druid's  apartments  might  have 
been  long  a  woman  of  the  world,  the  stage  world, 
which,  until  the  time  of  his  opportune  recognition 
by  Geraldine  DeLacy  had  been  the  man's  only  world. 

Introductions,  had  she  but  known  it,  were  of  no 
account  in  that  assemblage,  but  Templeton  Druid 
remembering  her  social  training,  did  not  dispense 
with  them  with  his  favored  guest.  To  each,  as  he 
made  the  circle  of  the  long  studio  room,  he  intro- 
duced her  as  "his  dearest  little  friend" — not  for- 
getting to  add  that  she  was  the  daughter  of  Hugh 
Benton,  the  financier. 

Another  round  of  cocktails  was  served.  The 
somewhat  blase  guests  took  heart.  Dinner  was  an- 
nounced, and  the  fun  began  to  wage  fast  and  furious. 


1 82       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

Elinor  was  enjoying  every  minute  of  it.  Here  was 
a  party  worth  while,  she  thought.  What  a  wonder- 
ful crowd  of  whole-hearted,  happy-go-lucky  people. 
And  she  would  soon  be  one  of  them — after  she  and 
Templeton  were  married!  She  would  give  all  sorts 
of  dinners  and  parties,  and  invite  this  same  crowd 
of  charming,  congenial  people. 

As  befitted  the  most  honored  guest,  she  was  seated 
next  to  her  host  at  the  table.  At  first  he  was  dis- 
creetness personified  in  all  his  actions  toward  her. 
But  as  the  dinner  progressed  and  he  imbibed  more 
and  more  freely  of  the  various  wines  the  possession 
of  which  only  he  could  have  explained,  he  threw  all 
caution  to  the  winds.  Openly  he  avowed  his  passion 
for  her. 

"I'm  mad  about  you,  darling,"  he  whispered, 
bending  his  head  close  to  her  ear.  "Each  time  I  see 
you,  I  want  you  more  and  more  for  my  very  own." 

Elinor  listened  with  shining  eyes. 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,  dear,"  she  nodded, 
"because  there's  something  I  want  to  talk  to  you 
about.  The  most  disagreeable  thing  has  happened 
at  home  and " 

"Won't  have  you  telling  me  disagreeable  things 
on — my  birthday."  He  hiccoughed  slightly.  "Go- 
ing to  stop  that  pretty  little  mouth  with  kisses." 
And  disregarding  guests,  appearances,  he  grabbed 
her  to  him  to  carry  out  his  threat. 

"Please — please,  Templeton."  She  struggled  to 
free  herself,  her  face  suffused  with  blushes.  "Let 
me  go!  You  embarrass  me  dreadfully!  Don't  you 
see  everyone  is  looking  at  you." 

"Let  'em  look.  What  do  I  care?  You're  my 
little  girl — I  love  you,  and  I'm  proud  of  it!  So 
there — and  there!"  He  caught  the  struggling  girl 
with  one  arm,  swung  her  from  her  chair,  as  he  em- 
phasized his  words  with  fervent  caresses. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       183 

With  face  suffused  with  scarlet,  Elinor  Benton 
drew  herself  from  the  arms  of  the  man  who  had  so 
publicly  declared  himself  her  lover.  But  as  she 
glanced  at  Druid's  other  guests,  in  full  expectation 
of  an  embarrassing  few  moments,  she  was  as  much 
bewildered  as  surprised  to  see  that  the  episode  had 
passed  unnoticed.  Each  was  too  intent  on  his  or 
her  own  affairs.  A  small  stream  of  wine  flowed 
redly  across  the  white  cloth  from  its  shattered  goblet 
that  had  been  overturned  as  Marie  Shaw,  a  Follies 
girl,  had  over-reached  herself  in  her  attempt  to  bom- 
bard Giles  Fellowes,  her  own  pet  press  agent,  who 
sat  across  the  table  with  the  centerpiece  of  orchids 
which  now  trailed,  a  bedraggled  mess  half  down  to 
the  floor.  Teddy  Martin,  a  composer,  who  himself 
admitted  he  was  a  popular  one,  wanted  to  show  off 
his  latest  hit.  He  tipped  over  his  chair  in  his  .eager- 
ness to  reach  the  piano. 

Harold  Westley,  handsome  as  a  screen  actor 
should  be,  danced  over  to  Elinor  and  pulled  her  away 
from  Templeton  Druid. 

"Come  on,"  he  urged.  "Teddy's  giving  us  a 
fox  trot,"  then,  as  Druid  put  out  an  unsteady  pro- 
testing hand,  he  laughed  at  him:  "Needn't  think, 
just  because  you're  one  of  those  'appears,  personally, 
himselfY  that  you  can  monopolize  Miss  Benton  the 
whole  evening!" 

Before  she  realized  it,  Elinor  felt  herself  whirled 
away  in  the  movie  actor's  arms. 

"Some  party — I'll  say,"  he  drawled.  "Having 
a  good  time?" 

"Wonderful,"  she  answered.  "I've  never  been  to 
anything  like  this  before — it's  so  different." 

"How  do  you  mean — different?" 

"Well,  for  one  thing,  it's  so  free  from  restraint 
of  any  kind.  Everyone  does  just  as  he  pleases,  and 
no  one  seems  to  think  anything  about  it." 


;i84       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

He  laughed  heartily.  "If  you  think  this  is  free 
from  restraint,  you  should  have  been  here  at  the 
party  Templeton  gave  a  week  ago!  We  had  some 
night  of  it." 

"I — I  know — "  she  stammered,  trying  to  conceal 
her  confusion,  her  heart  thumping  madly.  "I 
couldn't  come  that  night  on  account  of  a  previous 
engagement." 

"You  missed  one  great  time — but  never  mind," 
he  reassured  her,  "the  night's  young  yet,  and  you 
can't  tell  how  this  will  wind  up — although  there 
doesn't  begin  to  be  the  number  of  pretty  babies  that 
were  here  the  other  night.  Why  you're  by  far  the 
one  best  bet  in  the  room  to-night,"  and  he  attempted 
to  hold  her  closer.  But  at  this  all  the  girl's  train- 
ing rebelled.  It  was  one  thing  for  Templeton  to — 
she  was  engaged  to  him — but  for  this  unknown 
actor 

"I  can't  dance  any  more — I'm  tired,  and  I  believe 
the  wine  has  gone  to  my  head,"  she  said  weakly.  She 
was  angry,  too,  at  what  he  had  told  her  about 
(Templeton. 

"Sit  here,"  Westley  said,  leading  her  to  a  large 
chair  in  the  corner,  "and  I'll  bring  you  some  black 
coffee — that'll  fix  you  up  all  right." 

As  soon  as  he  was  out  of  sight,  she  looked  around 
for  Druid.  As  she  caught  his  eye,  she  beckoned  for 
him  to  come  to  her. 

"Well,  sweetness — did  you  have  a  nice  dance?" 
he  inquired,  sitting  on  the  arm  of  her  chair.  But 
she  pushed  him  away  from  her,  and  faced  him. 

"You  had  a  party  here  last  week,"  she  accused 
him  furiously,  "and  there  were  a  lot  of  girls 
present." 

"Well — well — well !  Who's  been  telling  you  the 
news?" 

"Never  mind  who's  been  telling  me!     I  know  it 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       185 

— that's  enough  I  I — I  thought  you  were  absolutely 
true  to  me,  and  now — you've  broken  my  heart." 
Her  wail  ended  in  a  sob. 

"Come  now,  Elinor,  don't  be  foolish  and  create 
a  scene."  He  looked  around  uneasily.  The  laugh 
would  be  on  him  if  the  bunch —  "You  know  I  love 
you,  darling,"  he  added  quickly,  insinuatingly. 
"There  isn't  another  woman  in  the  world  who  means 
anything  to  me." 

"Oh — if  I  could  only  believe  you!"  But  the  sobs 
still  came.  "I  love  you  so  I  I'm  insanely  jealous  of 
your  every  thought.  When  I  think  of  you  day  after 
day — thrown  in  contact  with  so  many  beautiful  and 
clever  women,  I  am  filled  with  the  fear  of  someone 
coming  between  us — I  couldn't  bear  it  now — I 
couldn't,  dear  I" 

"Listen  to  me,  darling,"  he  whispered,  gently  dry- 
ing her  eyes  with  his  daintly-perfumed  handkerchief. 
"I  love  you  and  only  you!  Please  remember  that, 
and  when  you  are  my  little  wife " 

"When  will  that  be,  dear?"  She  looked  up 
through  her  tears  to  ask  anxiously. 

"Soon — very  soon — my  own,"  he  murmured.  For- 
getting the  hilarious,  laughing  merry-makers  around 
her,  conscious  only  of  one  thing — that  she  loved  this 
man  and  wanted  his  comfort  and  assurance,  Elinor 
Benton  let  him  draw  her  into  his  arms,  hold  her 
close. 

She  clung  to  him  passionately;  his  kisses  she  re- 
turned with  wild  abandon.  Unnoticed,  the  pins 
slipped  from  her  hair  and  it  hung  about  her  like  a 
shower  of  gold,  as  she  nestled  in  his  arms. 

There  was  a  commotion  at  the  door  as  someone 
swept  by  the  valet  and  pulled  aside  the  portieres. 
Elinor  and  Templeton  looked  up  simultaneously. 

Standing  in  the  doorway,  wild-eyed  and  white  as 
death  was  Howard  Benton  1 


1 86       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

By  the  time  Howard  had  reached  Druid's  apart- 
ments, he  was  seeing  red.  He  refused  to  allow  the 
hallboy  to  announce  him.  He  was  expected,  he  said. 
When  Druid's  valet  opened  the  door,  he  thrust  him 
aside  and  made  straight  for  the  living  room.  It 
was  the  valet's  attempt  to  restrain  him,  and  How- 
ard's persistency  that  caused  the  commotion  that 
brought  Elinor  and  Templeton  Druid  from  their 
trance,  caused  them  at  glance  upward  to  see  him 
standing  in  the  doorway. 

"Howard!"  Elinor  could  only  gasp  weakly. 

"Hello,  Howard,"  Druid  put  Elinor  out  of  his 
arms,  and  came  forward,  struggling  to  gain  his  self- 
control.  "This  is  a  surprise.  Did  you  drop  in  to 
wish  me  a  happy  birthday?"  He  held  out  his  hand. 

"No — damn  you!"  gritted  the  boy,  as  he  brushed 
aside  Druid's  hand.  His  lips  drew  back  from  his 
teeth  in  animal-like  passion.  "No!  I  came  here  to 
demand  an  explanation  of  you !  And  I'm — going — 
to — have — it!" 


CHAPTER  XIV 

IN  the  sudden  hush  that  spread  through  the  room, 
only  the  stertorous  breathing  of  the  angry  young 
man  who  faced  Templeton  Druid  could  be  heard. 
For  just  a  moment  after  Howard  spoke,  Teddy 
Martin,  at  the  piano,  jangled  out  a  bit  of  jazz,  but 
it  had  the  hollow  sound  that  a  popular  song  might 
have  at  a  funeral.  He  whirled  about  on  the  piano 
bench  as  much  astonished  at  the  peculiar  quiet  as  a 
man  in  different  environment  might  have  been  had 
a  bomb  exploded  at  his  feet.  Marie  Shaw  stopped 
stock  still,  stunned  into  actual  quietude  for  once,  with 
skirt  still  uplifted  in  her  unfinished  pirouette. 

Gradually,  unconsciously.  Druid's  guests  closed  in 
about  the  two  belligerent  men  to  form  a  half  circle. 
In  the  tenseness,  each  waited  with  bated  breath  for 
what  next  might  happen.  Howard  Benton's  atti- 
tude was  unmistakable.  He  meant  trouble. 

Elinor  was  the  first  to  gain  control  of  herself.  She 
ran  to  her  brother  and  grabbed  him  by  the  arm. 

"Howard!"  she  shrieked,  vixenishly.  "How  dare 
you  come  in  here  like  this!  You're  drunk!  Go 
home  at  once!  You  wait  until  Dad  hears  of 
this " 

"You  shut  up!"  He  pushed  her  roughly  aside. 
"You're  a  fine  one  to  tell  me  I'm  drunk!  Look  at 
you,  with  your  hair  hanging  around  you,  and  your 
clothes  almost  falling  off — God!"  He  buried  his 
face  in  his  hands.  "I  never  thought  I  should  find 
my  sister  like  this!" 

Teddy  Martin  came  forward  quickly.  "See  here, 
Benton,  you  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about. 
This  is  Druid's  birthday,  and  we're  having  a  little 

party.    There  isn't  a  thing  wrong " 

187 


1 88       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

"You  can't  make  a  fool  of  me!"  he  answered 
hotly.  "Didn't  I  see  her  in  his  arms  when  I  came 
in?" 

"Well,  supposing  you  did,"  Druid  interrupted. 
"At  an  informal  party  like  this,  we  don't  stand  on 
ceremony.  This  doesn't  happen  to  be  one  of  your 
— society  functions,"  with  deep  sarcasm. 

"Put  on  your  things  at  once."  Howard  turned 
commandingly  to  Elinor.  "I'll  send  you  home  in  a 
taxi  and  then  I'll  come  back  and  settle  with  him." 

"But  what  if  I  don't  feel  like  going  home?" 
Elinor  faced  him  furiously.  "You've  got  your 
nerve  to  think  you  can  humiliate  me  like  this  in  front 
of  my  friends." 

"Friends?"  Howard  sneered.  "And  I  suppose 
this  man,"  pointing  to  Templeton  and  trembling  as 
a  man  with  ague,  so  eager  was  he  to  fasten  his  hands 
on  the  actor's  throat,  "is  your  friend  too?" 

Elinor  Benton  drew  herself  up  with  all  the  dignity 
inherited  from  a  haughty  parentage.  She  looked  at 
her  brother,  squarely,  then  defiantly  about  the  half 
circle  of  watching  silent  people. 

"He's  more  than  my  friend,"  Elinor  announced 
haughtily,  but  with  a  touch  of  pride.  "He  is — my 
affianced  husband!" 

Living  on  sensation  as  most  of  her  hearers  did, 
proof  against  surprises  in  usual  matters,  still  the 
simply-worded  announcement  of  Elinor  Benton  was 
sufficient  to  cause  jaws  to  drop,  to  cause  glances  to 
dart  from  one  to  the  other  at  a  statement  that,  to 
say  the  least,  to  most  of  them -was  startling.  Then 
those  glances  came  back  to  settle  on  the  face  of 
Templeton  Druid — the  glances  of  these  people  who 
knew  him.  What  they  saw  was  that  his  suave  coun- 
tenance had  turned  scarlet,  and  that  his  eyes  wavered 
unsteadily  as  he,  too,  glanced  stealthily  around  the 
room. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT        189 

"How  wonderfully  interesting!"  Howard's  sar- 
castic laugh  rang  out,  "but  don't  you  think  it  would 
have  been  proper  and  more  gentlemanly  for  him 
to  have  waited  until  he  had  disposed  of  his  present 
wife  before  honoring  you  with  his  proposal?" 

"His  wife !"  Elinor  turned  ghastly.  "It  isn't  true  1 
Tell  him  it  isn't  true — Templeton?" 

"Just  look  at  him!"  Howard  blazed.  "You  can 
read  his  answer  in  his  face." 

"Well,  I  told  you  there  was  a  matter  of  great  im- 
portance I  had  to  settle — before  I  could  marry  you 
— didn't  I?"  Druid  turned  to  Elinor  almost  fiercely. 

"Yes — but  a — wife — a  wife!"  Once  more  her 
wail  turned  to  sobs,  as  her  slender  body  was  shaken 
in  a  gale  of  emotion,  of  chagrin. 

Howard  took  a  menacing  step  nearer  Druid. 

"You've  played  fast  and  loose  with  my  sister's 
affections  in  order  to  feed  your  disgusting  vanity," 
he  began,  chokingly.  "You  will " 

"Now  you  get  out  of  here — you  and  your  sister!" 
All  of  Druid's  polish  dropped  from  him  like  a  cloak. 
"I've  taken  about  all  I  care  to  stand  from  you.  If 
you  think,  for  a  moment,  that  you  can  come  into  my 
home  and  insult  me  in  front  of  my  guests,  you're 
mistaken!  Your  sister  isn't  a  baby — she's  capable 
of  taking  care  of  herself.  In  fact,  I  think  she  knows 
considerably  more  than  you  think."  He  was  sneer- 
ingly  insinuating. 

"You — you  cad!"  Unable  further  to  hold  him- 
self in  check,  Howard  sprang  forward.  "I'm  going 
to  give  you  the  beating  you  so  justly  deserve." 

Westley  took  a  step  forward  and  turned  aside  the 
angry  boy's  arm. 

"Steady  there,  Benton,"  Druid's  eyes  flashe'd  fire. 
"If  you  start  anything  with  me,  you'll  find  more  than 
you  bargained  for!  You're  not  my  match  in 
strength,  and  I  don't  like  to  take  advantage  of  a  boy!" 


1 90       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

With  only  the  memory  of  Druid's  words  to  "get 
out, — you  and  your  sister"  ringing  in  her  ears,  and 
hurt  unbelievably  that  they  should  have  come  from 
the  man  who  but  a  moment  before  was  softly  voicing 
undying  devotion  to  her,  Elinor  Benton  attempted 
to  interfere,  to  put  an  end  to  the  sordid  scene.  She 
put  her  hand  on  Howard's  arm  which  he  was  still 
waving  threateningly. 

"Come  on,  Howard.  Mr. — Mr.  Druid  is  right. 
We  have  created  enough  disturbance  here.  I — I'm 
ready  to  go  home  with  you,"  she  said  with  dignity. 

"You — keep  out  of  this!"  Howard  shook  off  her 
hand.  His  eyes  blazed  fire  as  he  advanced  on  his 
enemy.  "So  I'm  a  boy,  am  I?"  he  sneered.  "Well 
at  least,  I'm  not  a  coward  and  I  don't  make  play- 
things of  women." 

"Get  out!"  Druid  thundered. 

Howard's  answer  was  to  pull  off  his  coat,  fling  it 
on  the  floor  and  lunge  forward  with  closed  fists.  Eli- 
nor screamed  hysterically  and  fled  to  the  corner  of 
the  room,  covering  her  eyes  with  both  trembling 
hands. 

But  Druid  was  not  caught  off  his  defense.  He 
caught  Howard's  fists  in  his  hands  and  there  was  a 
triumphant  light  in  his  eyes  as  he  hissed  between 
closed  teeth:  "Very  well,  you  damned  fool!  If 
you're  bound  on  fighting,  I'll  give  you  a  thrashing 
you'll  not  forget  in  a  hurry." 

Men  guests,  less  befuddled,  sprang  forward  pro- 
testingly,  but  he  waved  them  back  dramatically,  as 
he  pulled  off  his  coat. 

"All  of  you  keep  out  of  this.  My  patience  has 
been  tried  beyond  all  endurance,  and  this  child,"  he 
paused  just  the  right  length  of  time  for  his  dramatic 
taunt,  "must  be  taught  a  lesson!"  The  sneer  accom- 
panying the  words  curled  back  his  lips  over  the  per- 
fect teeth. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       191 

It  only  took  Druid  a  few  seconds  to  discover  that 
he  was  up  against  anything  but  a  novice.  Howard 
had  taken  a  special  course  of  pugilistic  training 
besides  being  a  born  athlete.  In  college  he  had 
carried  off  first  honors  in  every  contest.  Druid  was 
no  mean  athlete  himself  and  not  loth  to  exploit  his 
prowess,  but  he  depended  too  much  on  brute 
strength,  a  strength  his  evening's  debauch  had  much 
weakened.  He  found  himself  no  match  for  How- 
ard's cleverness — taught  him  by  one  of  the  most 
scientific  men  in  the  ring. 

Templeton  Druid  was  getting  the  worst  of  it. 
That  was  plain.  He  had  been  down  twice  and  was 
terribly  groggy.  Both  men  were  bleeding  profusely 
and  indiscriminately  over  the  room  which  looked  as 
if  a  cyclone  had  struck  it. 

A  half  stifled,  hysterical  shriek  at  some  telling 
bloody  blow  from  one  of  the  women,  a  groan,  or 
muffled  mumble  of  admiration  from  the  men  guests 
who  were  watching  as  eagerly  as  at  any  mill  in  the 
padded  ring  was  all  that  could  be  heard  above  the 
labored  breathing  of  the  battlers,  save  the  steady 
hysterical  sobbing  of  Elinor  Benton  from  her  corner. 
Rugs  were  torn  up,  furniture  overturned,  priceless 
bric-a-brac  fell  with  a  crash  that  added  to  the  gen- 
eral ensemble;  the  grinning  Buddha  toppled  from  his 
pedestal  and  crashed  into  a  thousand  pieces,  his  grin 
alone  looking  up  from  the  floor  in  the  midst  of  his 
shattered  features. 

Templeton  Druid  dropped  to  the  floor  with  fi- 
nality. Men  sprang  forward,  thinking  it  was  the 
end,  when  slowly  he  began  to  pull  himself  up  again. 
His  hand  went  to  his  hip-pocket,  and  he  pulled 
forth  a  small  revolver.  Howard  saw  it  at  the  mo- 
ment its  shine  appeared  and  leapt  for  it. 

A  struggle — more  furious  than  ever  for  a  moment. 
A  shot  rang  out. 


192       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

Templeton  Druid  staggered,  threw  his  hands  in' 
the  air,  and  fell,  face  downward  on  the  torn,  blood- 
stained Persian  rug. 

Howard  Benton  stood  over  the  crumpled  figure 
on  the  rug  with  the  shining  revolver  in  his  hand.  He 
looked  at  it  half  understandingly,  as  though  it  were 
a  strange  thing  he  had  never  seen  before — that  he 
could  not  recognize.  Then  it  dropped  from  his 
nerveless  fingers  with  a  clatter  among  the  pieces  of 
the  broken  Buddha.  His  eyes  shifted  aimlessly 
about,  to  fix  themselves  once  more  on  the  huddled 
figure  at  his  feet. 

"My  God!"  he  gasped.     "I've  killed  him!" 

In  the  speechless  pause,  Elinor  Benton's  shrieks 
rent  the  air  wildly.  She  staggered  from  her  corner, 
throwing  aside  hands  that  with  kindly  intent  sought 
to  restrain  her,  to  fall  prone  on  the  still  form  on  the 
floor,  her  gown  drinking  in  the  crimson  that  flowed 
out  darkly  across  the  polished  floor. 

"Oh,  my  darling !    Speak  to  me !"  she  moaned  and 

? leaded.  "I  don't  care  for  anyone  in  the  world! 
love  you !  Oh — speak  to  me !  Speak  to  me !" 

The  quiet  that  had  reigned  during  the  encounter 
became  turmoil.  Trembling,  wild-eyed,  Druid's 
valet's  white  face  appeared  at  the  door.  Westley 
rushed  to  him. 

"Is  there  a  doctor  in  the  building?"  he  howled. 

The  man's  teeth  chattered  as  his  shuddering 
glance  took  in  the  scene. 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  stuttered.     "On  the  ground  floor." 

"Get  him!"  commanded  the  movie  actor. 

Women  rushed  to  get  wraps,  looking  about  with 
anxious  eyes  for  the  opportunity  of  making  cautious 
exits.  Only  Elinor  Benton  seemed  not  to  think  of 
escape  as  she  wept  over  the  still  figure  of  the  man 
on  the  floor.  But  that  escape  was  out  of  the  ques- 
tion was  obvious  in  but  a  moment  when  the  apart- 
ment began  to  fill  with  'excited,  curious  tenants  who 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       .193 

had  heard  the  shot  and  crowded  forward  morbidly 
to  see  what  was  going  on. 

Orders,  suggestions,  flew  backward  and  forward. 
Apparently  the  only  calm  person  in  the  apartment 
was  Howard  Benton.  He  had  walked  unseeingly  to 
a  bench  at  one  side  of  the  room  and  dropped  on  it. 
He  was  too  stunned  to  speak.  Attempts  to  speak 
to  him  were  met  with  a  dazed  incomprehension. 

Teddy  Martin  touched  him  on  the  shoulder  and 
offered:  "I'm  sorry,  Benton.  Is  there  anything  I 
can  do  for  you?" 

The  not  unkindly  touch  helped  to  bring  him  out 
of  himself. 

uls  he — is  he — dead — or  only  wounded?"  he 
asked  quietly. 

"We  don't  know  yet,"  Martin  answered.  "The 
doctor  will  be  here  in  a  minute,  and  then  we  will  find 
out.  Here  he  is  now." 

Doctor  Adams  looked  on  in  surprise  while  one 
of  the  girls  pulled  Elinor  away  from  Druid,  trying 
to  make^the  hysterical  girl  understand  that  the  doctor 
had  arrived. 

"What's  happened  here?"  the  medical  man  in- 
quired brusquely. 

Harold  Westley  stepped  forward.  "Two  men 
had  a  quarrel,"  he  informed,  "and  one  of  them  was 
shot — accidentally." 

"Humph !  Looks  more  like  a  free-for-all  fight," 
the  doctor  answered,  glancing  around  the  room.  He 
bent  over  the  still  form;  turned  him  over.  His  ex- 
amination lasted  but  a  few  seconds. 

"Dead,"  he  announced  solemnly.  "A  clean  shot 
through  the  heart — died  instantaneously." 

"No!  No!"  Elinor  moaned,  attempting  to  rush 
forward  again. 

"Are  you  his  wife?"  the  doctor  inquired  more 
gently. 

Elinor  shook  her  head,  but  sobs  wracked  her. 


194       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

"Oh — well — it  is  my  duty  to  inform  th'e  authori- 
ties. Of  course,  you  know  no  one  must  leave  before 
their  arrival?"  He  rose  from  beside  the  body. 

Howard  reached  for  the  only  friendly  hand  out- 
held  to  him  and  gripped  it. 

"Martin,"  he  asked,  "will  you  try  to  locate  my 
father?  Call  the  club,  and  if  he  isn't  there,  try  our 
home.  If  you  get  him,  give  him  an  idea  of  what 
had  happened,  and  ask  him  to  come  to  me." 

"I'll  do  all  that  I  can,"  Teddy  assured  him,  and 
hurried  out  to  the  telephone. 

He  was  fortunate  in  locating  Hugh  Benton  at  the 
Club,  catching  him  just  as  he  was  leaving  for  home. 
In  a  very  few  moments,  he  gave  him  a  brief  outline 
of  the  tragic  affair. 

"I — I'll  be  over  at  once,"  said  the  father  in  a 
choked  voice.  The  catastrophe  stunned  him.  He 
could  barely  make  himself  understood,  but  he  added, 
as  assurance  for  Howard:  "I'm  going  to  try  to 
reach  my  attorney  and  have  him  go  with  me." 

But  it  was  an  old  and  broken  man  who  hung  up  the 
telephone  and  clung  to  the  table  for  support  as  he 
swayed,  fighting  for  courage  to  carry  him  through 
the  ordeal  he  was  called  on  to  face — fighting  for 
immediate  strength  to  telephone  the  man  on  whom 
he  must  rely  for  present  aid. 

Howard  was  pacing  nervously  up  and  down,  when 
his  father  and  John  Hammond,  the  celebrated  at- 
torney, arrived  at  the  scene  of  the  tragedy.  He 
went  to  his  father  manfully. 

"I'm  terribly  sorry,  Dad,  to  have  caused  this 
trouble,"  he  apologized,  "but  I — I  couldn't  help  it. 
The  revolver  was  discharged  accidentally.  He — he 
was  a  coward  to  the  end — he  couldn't  even — fight 
fair." 

"Tell  me  the  entire  thing,  Howard;  just  what 
brought  you  here,  and  how  it  happened,"  Mr. 
Hammond  said  quietly. 


195 

Howard  told  it  all  as  clearly  as  he  could  re- 
member. Once  or  twice  the  lawyer  interrupted  him 
to  ask  a  question,  or  to  have  him  make  some  point 
a  little  more  definite.  At  the  conclusion,  he  turned 
to  Hugh. 

"This  looks  like  a  simple  case  of  self-defense, 
Benton,"  he  said,  and  his  tone  and  off-hand  manner 
gave  rising  hope  to  father  and  son.  "The  boy  came 
here  to  protect  his  sister's  good  name — a  fight  en- 
sued, Druid  pulled  his  revolver — there  are  witnesses 
enough  here  to  attest  that,"  looking  about  at  the 
sadly  morose  lot  who  so  short  a  time  before  had 
been  merry-makers.  "The  boy  secured  possession  of 
it — it  was  discharged  accidentally,  or  at  the  worst, 
discharged  in  self-defense." 

"Yes — but  think  of  the  scandal — "  Hugh  was  not 
altogether  appeased. 

"That  is  something  we  cannot  help,"  the  lawyer 
replied  as  his  jaws  snapped  shut.  "Be  grateful  to 
think  you  can  save  the  boy!  There  are  a  certain 
amount  of  preliminaries  necessary  to  go  through, 
and  then  he  can  go  home  with  you.  Just  a  moment, 
before  we  go — I  want  to  speak  to  these  men,"  in- 
dicating a  couple  of  officers  and  detectives  who  had 
[entered  the  room. 

"I  must  arrange  to  send  Elinor  home."  Hugh 
mentioned  his  daughter  for  the  first  time,  although 
the  sight  of  her,  when  he  had  come  into  the  room 
had  almost  taken  the  breath  from  his  body. 

It  was  a  brilliant  commentary  on  Hugh  Benton's 
attitude  of  mind  that,  as  he  sat  before  the  telephone 
at  this  crisis  in  his  life,  maneuvering  to  save  both 
son  and  daughter  as  well  as  to  drown  out  as  much 
as  possible  of  the  scandal  that  must  ensue,  that  not 
even  for  one  moment  did  he  think  of  calling  his  wife 
to  his  aid.  As  he  sat  there  nervously  jangling  the 
hook  up  and  down,  it  was  Geraldine  DeLacy  who 
was  going  through  his  mind.  Geraldine!  She 


196       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

loved  him!  She  would  come  to  him — would  help 
him  through.  Only  for  a  moment  did  the  vision  of 
Marjorie  cross  his  mind,  and  then  he  dismissed  her 
with  a  queer  wry  smile.  In  this,  his  time  of  trouble, 
he  wanted  Geraldine.  To  the  woman  he  loved,  and 
to  her  only,  would  he  entrust  his  foolish  daughter. 

The  sleeping  butler  at  the  Thurston  home  was  not 
easily  roused  to  answer  the  telephone.  Even  then, 
Benton  had  a  difficult  time  in  persuading  him  his 
business  was  of  the  most  vital  importance,  and  that 
he  must  awaken  Mrs.  DeLacy. 

It  seemed  ages  before  a  sleepy  voice  answered 
him.  "Why — Hugh!  What  on  earth  do  you  mean 
at  this  hour  in  the  morning.  Why " 

"Geraldine,  a  terrible  thing  has  happened!"  The 
man's  voice  trembled  with  earnestness.  "I  cannot 
tell  you  over  the  'phone,"  he  went  on,  "but  I  want 
37ou  to  dress  as  quickly  as  you  can,  jump  in  a  taxi 
and  come  here  at  once."  He  gave  her  the  address 
of  the  apartment. 

"What  place  is  that — and  what  do  you  want  me 
for — what  has  happened?"  she  inquired  in  one 
breath. 

"I  can't  go  into  details  now — all  I  can  tell  you  is 
that  Howard  has  killed — Templeton  Druid.  Don't 
ask  any  questions — just  come  to  me,  dear — I  need 
you."  His  voice  quivered  more  unmistakably. 

"Great  heavens!"  For  once  Geraldine  was  all 
but  speechless  as  she  gasped.  "I — I'll  come  to  you 
at  once,  dear." 

She  never  remembered  how  she  dressed,  ordered 
the  taxi,  or  hurried  to  the  apartment.  She  knew 
she  accomplished  it  all  in  a  remarkably  short  space 
of  time,  because  Hugh  met  her  at  the  door  and  said 
gratefully: 

"You  certainly  came  quickly,  dear — thank  you  so 
much."  He  told  her  as  rapidly  as  possible  just  what 
had  transpired.  "And  now,"  he  urged,  "I  want  you 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       197 

to  take  Elinor  home.  There  wasn't  anyone  here  I 
felt  I  could  entrust  her  to.  She  is  in  a  frightfully 
hysterical  condition  and  should  be  put  to  bed  at 
once." 

"I  shall  be  glad  to  take  her,  dear,  and  oh — you 
don't  know  how  I  am  suffering  with  you.  Shall  I 
take  Elinor  home  with  me — or " 

"No,  no — take  her  to  her  own  home.  My  lawyer 
will  have  to  talk  with  her  to-morrow,  and  besides," 
he  continued,  "she  may  want  her — mother." 

"Don't  you  think  Marjorie  will  resent  my  entering 
her  home?" 

"Marjorie  has  doubtless  been  in  bed  for  hours — 
there  is  no  need  to  awaken  her.  She  will  have  to 
be  told  everything  in  the  morning,  but  that  is  time 
enough." 

"I  will  do  just  as  you  wish,  my  dear.  My  only 
desire  is  to  serve  you,  as  you  know.  Nothing  else 
matters,"  and  she  patted  his  arm  lovingly. 

She  went  to  Elinor  and  put  her  arms  protectingly 
about  her. 

"Oh — oh — Geraldine!"  Elinor  began  sobbing 
anew.  "What  are  you  doing  here?  Do  you  know 
what  has  happened?  Oh — I  just  want  to  die — I 
want  to  die!" 

"There,  there,  darling,"  Geraldine  soothed,  help- 
ing her  on  with  her  wrap  she  had  brought.  "I  am 
going  to  take  you  home.  You  can  tell  me  everything 
in  the  taxi.  You  must  pull  yourself  together,  dear, 
and  be  brave." 

"How  can  I  be — brave — when — when — my  heart 
is  breaking!  Just — just  think!  A  little  while  ago, 
I — I  was  in  his  arms — and — and — now — I  shall — 
nev-er — see  him  again!" 

"Come,  dear,  we  will  go  now.  Your  father  is 
anxious  for  you  to  go  home."  And  Geraldine  led 
her  to  the  door,  where  Hugh  joined  them. 

Elinor  fell  into  his  arms.     "Daddy!     Daddy!" 


i98       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

she  cried,  heart-brokeningly.  "What  shall  I  do?  I 
— I  can't  stand  this." 

Hugh  held  her  closely  in  his  arms  as  he  tenderly 
murmured:  "Never  mind,  darling,  your  Daddy  will 
always  stand  by  you — no — no  matter  what  happens. 
Mrs.  DeLacy  will  take  you  home.  Howard  and  I 
will  have  to  wait  awhile,  but  we'll  follow  you." 

"Howard!"  Elinor  turned  like  a  tigress.  "He  is 
to  blame  for  all  this — I  hate  him !  Do  you  under- 
stand? I  hate  him !  And  I  hope  he  is  made  to  suffer 
for  his  crime!" 

Geraldine  DeLacy  put  her  arm  protectingly  about 
the  girl  whose  whole  body  shook  with  the  fury  and 
fervor  of  the  hate  with  which  she  denounced  the 
brother  who  had  killed  the  man  she  believed  she 
loved.  Hugh  Benton's  surprised  shocked  counte- 
nance gave  proof  of  his  little  understanding  of  the 
side  of  his  daughter's  character  she  was  showing. 
But  Geraldine  only  drew  her  more  closely  into  pro- 
tecting arms. 

"Come  with  me,  darling,"  she  soothed.  "You're 
all  unnerved."  She  shook  her  head  protestingly  at 
Hugh  Benton  as  his  mouth  opened  to  speak.  With- 
out a  word,  he  helped  the  woman  and  girl  into  the 
waiting  cab  and  turned  back  toward  the  apartment 
entrance.  But  his  head  hung  low  as  he  walked,  and 
there  was  a  sense  of  unrealness,  a  sense  of  bewilder- 
ment, wonder,  annoyance  at  the  complexity  of  life 
as  he  went  slowly  back  to  the  son  who  had  sought 
only  to  do  as  his  conscience  bade. 


CHAPTER  XV 

UNTIL  the  muffled  bells  of  the  cathedral  clock 
in  the  hall  slowly  and  sweetly  chimed  out  the 
midnight  hour,   Marjorie  Benton  had  sat  in 
front  of  the  fire  in  the  library  where  Griggs  had  left 
her — waiting.    She  had  no  idea  when  Howard  would 
come  in,  but  she  expected  Elinor  almost  any  minute, 
as  she  had  only  gone  to  the  Thurstons  for  dinner 
and  could  not  remain  away  much  longer. 

To  Marjorie,  whose  every  nerve  was  keyed  to  a 
snapping  tension,  the  evening  had  seemed  endless. 
Her  eyes  were  riveted  upon  the  hands  of  the  clock. 
At  twelve-thirty,  she  bounded  from  her  seat,  and 
fairly  flew  to  the  telephone,  unable  to  curb  her  pa- 
tience a  second  longer. 

Central  was  obliged  to  ring  a  number  of  times 
before  the  Thurston  number  answered. 

"What  seems  to  be  the  trouble?"  Marjorie  de- 
manded irritably.  "That  number  should  answer  at 
once." 

"I  am  ringing  them,  Madam,"  Central  replied 
mechanically. 

"Such  service.  You  never  can  get  a  number  when 
you  want  one,"  Marjorie  muttered  irritably  as  she 
shook  the  hook. 

"They  do  not  answer,"  the  operator  drawled. 

"But  I  tell  you  they  do  answer!  They  must  an- 
swer," Marjorie  insisted.  "Why,  they're  hav- 
ing " 

"There's  your  party,"  Central  interrupted.  "Go 
ahead." 

"Oh — hello — I'd  like  to  speak  to  Miss  Benton, 
please." 

199 


"There's  no  one  here  by  that  name,"  came  the 
answer  curtly.  "You  must  have  the  wrong  number." 

"Is  this  Mrs.  Horace  Thurston's  residence?" 

"Yes,  Madame — but  there  isn't  anyone  here  by 
the  name  of  Benton.  If  it's  Hugh  Benton's  home 
you  wish,  I  can  give  you  the  number.  It " 

"No — this  is  the  number  I  wish.  Kindly  call  Mrs. 
Thurston  to  the  'phone." 

"Mrs.  and  Mr.  Thurston  are  both  in  Atlantic  City 
— until  to-morrow." 

Marjorie  felt  the  ground  giving  way  beneath  her 
feet.  She  clutched  at  the  desk  for  support  as  she 
inquired: 

"Where  is  Miss  Thurston?" 

"In  bed,  Madame.  At  least,  I  suppose  she  is. 
She  returned  home  about  twelve  o'clock  and  went 
straight  to  her  room.  Do  you  wish  me  to  call  her?" 

"No — no — it  will  not  be  necessary.  I — I  made 
a  mistake — that  is  all.  Somehow  I  was  under  the 
impression  that  Miss  Thurston  was  entertaining  at 
dinner  this  evening,  but  I  realize  now  that  it  was — 
someone  else." 

"Yes,  Madame.  That  must  be  it,"  the  butler 
agreed.  "Because  Miss  Thurston  went  out  to  dinner 
and  the  theater  with  a  gentleman  this  evening." 

"Thank  you — I — I'm  sorry  to  have  disturbed  you 
at  this  hour." 

"That's  all  right,  Madame.  Do  you  care  to  leave 
your  name  for  Mrs.  Thurston?" 

"Oh,  no — I — I'll  call  Mrs.  Thurston  myself — to- 
morrow.^  Good-night,"  she  faltered  as  she  hung  up 
the  receiver  and  stood  as  one  petrified,  staring  into 
space. 

^  What  new  horror  was  about  to  confront  her? 
Elinor  had  deliberately  deceived  her,  and  perhaps 
this  had  not  been  the  first  time.  Where  could  she: 
have  gone?  What  'did  it  all  mean? 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       201 

Again  she  began  to  pace  the  floor.  Her  own 
trouble  was  almost  blotted  from  her  mind  as  this 
new  fear  clutched  at  her  heart.  Where  was  Elinor? 
Where  was  she?  Over  and  over  again  she  asked 
herself  the  question  as  she  traveled  back  and  forth 
between  the  window  and  the  farthest  book-lined 
wall. 

Twice  the  faithful  Griggs  attempted  to  speak  to 
her,  but  she  waved  him  back  frantically,  refusing  to 
listen.  As  long  as  she  lived,  this  night  would  leave 
its  mark  upon  her.  She  had  passed  hours  of  un- 
speakable suffering  and  torture. 

At  four  o'clock,  with  the  faint  coming  of  dawn, 
Griggs  placed  another  log  on  the  fire  which  he  had 
kept  burning  all  night,  and  then  confronted  Mar- 
jorie  determinedly  with  the  assurance  of  an  old  and 
trusted  servant. 

"Mrs.  Benton,  won't  you  please  go  to  bed!  It's 
four  o'clock,  and  you  must  be  worn  out!  Pardon 
the  liberty  of  an  old  servant,  but " 

"Four  o'clock — four  o'clock — "  Marjorie  kept 
wringing  her  hands  despairingly,  "and  not  one  of 
them  home  yet!  God!  What  can  have  happened!" 

"Nothing  has  happened,  ma'am!  Miss  Elinor 
and  Mr.  Howard  are  most  likely  with  Mr.  Benton 
at  some  party  or  dance,"  Griggs  endeavored  to  con- 
sole her. 

"Four  o'clock,"  she  kept  repeating.  "Why,  they 
couldn't  remain  anywhere  as  late  as  that." 

"Indeed,  they've  come  in  late  many  times,  Mrs. 
Benton ;  only  you  have  been  asleep  in  your  own  room 
and  didn't  know  it." 

"As  late  as  this?" 

"Well — no — not  quite  as  late — but  I'm  sure 
there's  no  reason  for  you  to  worry.  Come  to  your 
room — please — and  let  me  bring  you  some  coffee." 

"Thanks,  Griggs,"   Marjorie  replied  gratefully. 


202       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

"You're  very  kind,  and  I  appreciate  your  remaining 
up  with  me  like  this  more  than  I  can  tell  you,  but  I 
couldn't  leave  here — I  must  wait." 

"Mrs.  Benton,  I'll  call  you  the  minute  anyone 
comes.  It  won't  do  any  good  for  you  to  wear  your- 
self  " 

The  sound  of  a  machine  coming  up  the  driveway 
cut  short  further  arguments.  Griggs  rushed  to  the 
window. 

"Here's  a  cab  now,  Ma'am,"  he  said,  hastening 
to  open  the  door. 

"At  last !  At  last !"  Marjorie  held  her  hand  over 
her  heart.  "Thank  God — they've  come!" 

She  stood  with  bated  breath,  facing  the  door,  ex- 
pecting she  knew  not — what.  But  whatever  else  it 
might  have  been  that  unfolded  itself  before  Marjorie 
Benton's  hot  worried  eyes,  it  could  not  have  stabbed 
her  as  what  she  did  see.  An  icy  hand  clutched  her 
heart.  The  room  swam  about  her.  She  tried  to 
move  forward  with  a  cry,  but  stood  rooted  to  the 
spot.  For  there,  standing  on  the  threshold  was  her 
own  daughter,  her  baby,  Elinor — hair  hanging  in 
wild  disarray,  white-faced,  trembling,  clothing  dis- 
arranged, while  moans  and  sobs  issued  from  her  dis- 
torted pale  lips.  Holding  her  up,  guiding  her  tot- 
tering footsteps,  her  arms  possessively,  protectingly 
around  Marjorie  Benton's  daughter  was  the  one 
woman  in  the  world  whom  she  hated  with  a  deadly 
hatred,  the  woman  who  had  taken  from  her  the  love 
of  her  own  husband — Geraldine  DeLacy. 

The  mother's  breath  came  with  a  quick  intake  as 
her  arms  went  quiveringly  out  toward  the  girl. 

"Elinor!"  the  cry  came  in  a  pitiful  wail. 

"Oh,  mother!  Mother!"  Elinor  sobbed  brok- 
enly, as  she  wrenched  herself  from  Geraldine's  arms 
and  tottered  toward  her  mother.  Marjorie  caught 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       203 

her  as  she  fell.  She  held  her  closely  as  she  had  held 
her  as  a  baby. 

"What  is  it,  dear?"  she  murmured  tenderly. 
Mother  instinct  told  her  it  was  no  time  for  re- 
proaches, but  a  time  for  soothing.  "What  has 
happened?  Try  to  control  yourself  and  tell  me." 

"Oh— I— I  can't!  I  can't!"  Elinor  moaned. 
"It's  so  terrible!" 

Trembling  from  head  to  foot  Marjorie,  holding 
Elinor  closely  to  her,  turned  to  Geraldine.  "Per- 
haps, Mrs.  DeLacy,  you  will  kindly  tell  me — what 
this  all  means?"  she  asked. 

"I'm  very  sorry,  Mrs.  Benton,"  Geraldine  replied 
gravely,  "but  a  terrible  thing  has  happened.  I — 
I  scarcely  know  how  to  tell  you." 

Marjorie's  eyes  flashed  fire.  "Nothing  can  be 
more  terrible  than  this  dreadful  suspense !  You  must 
tell  me  at  once!"  she  commanded. 

"Very  well,  but  I  want  you  to  believe  me,  Mrs. 
Benton,  when  I  tell  you  that  it  grieves  me  greatly  to 
be  the  bearer  of  this  news."  Geraldine's  attempt  at 
friendly  conciliation  passed  by  the  distracted  mother. 

"Go  on — please!"  she  ordered,  with  set  lips. 

"This  evening,"  Geraldine  began,  "Templeton 
Druid  had  a  dinner  party  in  his  rooms  after  the 
show " 

"Who  is  Templeton  Druid?"  Marjorie  inter- 
rupted. 

"Templeton  Druid  was,"  she  laid  stress  upon  the 
word,  a  stress  unnoticed  by  Marjorie,  although 
Elinor  shivered  in  her  mother's  clasp,  "an  actor — 
the  most  popular  leading  man  on  Broadway,  and  a 
friend  of  Elinor's  and  Howard's.  Elinor  knew  you 
would  never  consent  to  her  going  to  the  party,  so 
she  told  you  she  was  going  to  the  Thurstons'." 

"I — I    know,"    Marjorie    murmured.      "I    tele- 


204       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

phoned  the  Thurstons  at  twelve-thirty."  She  closed 
her  eyes  as  if  to  shut  out  the  memory  of  the  shock 
she  had  received. 

"She  spent  the  early  part  of  the  evening,"  Geral- 
dine  continued,  "with  Rosebud  Greeley,  and  then 
went  to  Mr.  Druid's  apartment." 

"Oh,  my  dear!  My  dear!"  Marjorie  wailed. 
"Go  on,  please,  Mrs.  DeLacy." 

"Howard  happened  to  know  where  Elinor  was 
going,  and  disapproved  of  it.  He  had  spent  the 
evening  with  Nell  Thurston,  and  after  seeing  her 
home,  went  downtown  to  the  club,  where  he  imbibed 
rather  freely  with  some  of  the  boys.  He  happened 
to  overhear  a  conversation  concerning  Elinor  and 
Druid,  which  enraged  him  past  endurance.  He 
jumped  in  a  taxi  and  went  directly  to  Druid's  apart- 
ment  " 

"Oh — mother — mother — "  Elinor  clutched  her 
wildly.  "I  can't  bear  it.  Why — why " 

"Hush,  darling,"  Marjorie  patted  her  head,  "I 
must  hear  the  rest." 

"When  Howard  arrived,"  went  on  Mrs.  DeLacy 
as  though  repeating  a  carefully  rehearsed  lesson, 
"a  wild  party  was  on,  which  only  went  toward  con- 
firming the  things  he  had  heard.  A  furious  scene 
followed — and  a — a  fist  battle.  In  the  midst  of 
which  Druid  pulled  a  revolver  out  of  his  pocket — 
Howard  managed  to  secure  it.  There  was  a  shot 
and  Druid  fell  to  the  floor!"  Geraldine  dramatically 
turned  her  eyes  as  she  reached  her  climax  as  though 
too  tender-hearted  to  witness  the  mother's  despair. 
But  underneath  the  lids  that  veiled  her  eyes,  there 
was  gloating. 

"Oh — No!  No!"  Marjorie  felt  the  iron  hand 
closing  tighter  around  her  heart.  It  was  crushing 
it.  "He  d'idn\— kill— him?" 

"Instantly!" 


205 

The  monosyllabic  reply  was  like  the  closing  of 
life's  chapter  to  the  mother  who  heard  it.  The 
world  seemed  far  away.  She  could  not  think — could 
not  breathe  to  recognize  the  familiar  action.  That 
iron  hand  was  closing  and  unclosing,  squeezing  from 
her  heart  but  icy  drops.  Vaguely  she  could  feel  her 
arms  about  her  daughter  while  her  mind  wandered 
to  the  son — could  feel  Elinor  clutching  her  hands, 
her  arms, — could  hear  her  wailing. 

"Oh,  mother!  Mother!  I  loved  him  so!  I 
loved  him !  Oh,  what  shall  I  do  1" 

The  iron  hand  held  a  dagger.  It  was  draining 
her  life  blood.  She  felt  it  leaving  her  face,  her 
limbs.  She  felt  the  gray  pallor  of  her  cheeks. 
Limply  she  sank  down  into  the  deep  chair  beside  her 
(and  even  in  her  despair  there  came  a  queer  flash  of 
memory  over  her  that  it  was  Hugh's  chair)  as  she 
stared  at  the  bearer  of  the  news.  Her  comprehen- 
sion was  unable  to  cope  with  its  suddenness. 

Elinor,  clinging  helplessly  to  her  mother,  fell  ori 
her  knees,  burying  her  head  in  her  lap. 

"I — I  can't  realize  it!"  Marjorie  felt  her  lips 
framing  the  words,  but  to  her  own  ears  they  were 
inaudible.  "It  is  all — so  horrible." 

"I  know,  Mrs.  Benton."  Outwardly,  Geraldine 
was  all  sympathy.  "But  you  must  face  this  thing  as 
bravely  as  you  can,  for  Mr.  Benton's  sake " 

Marjorie  bit  her  lips  so  hard  she  drew  the  blood 
in  two  places.  "Where — where  is  Howard  now?" 
she  demanded. 

"They  'phoned  the  club  and  managed  to  locate 
Mr.  Benton.  He  called  his  attorney.  There  are 
certain  arrangements  to  be  made  and  then  he  will 
bring  Howard  home." 

In  her  dazed  consciousness  it  had  already  occurred 
to  Marjorie  to  wonder  where  Hugh  was,  and  she 
had  had  an  added  pang  when  she  had  realized  what 


206       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

all  this  would  mean  to  him.  She  would  so  have  tried 
to  spare  him. 

So  he  already  knew!  And  he  had  not  even  let 
her  know,  come  to  her,  or  sent  to  her  in  his  trouble. 
No — instead  it  had  been  this — this  other  woman  he 
had —  Bitterness  welled  to  take  the  place  of  pity. 
And  that  bitterness  swelled  her  heart  till  she  felt 
it  had  reached  the  bursting  point. 

To  think  that  her  husband  had  dared  to  select  that 
woman  to  bring  Elinor  home!  She  should  have 
been  sent  for!  Wasn't  she  still  his  wife,  and  Eli- 
nor's mother?  Had  Hugh  thrown  her  into  the  dust 
and  trampled  upon  her,  he  could  not  have  humiliated 
her  more  than  by  sending  this,  to  her,  abominable 
creature  as  the  conveyer  of  this  appalling  news. 
The  strangeness  of  it  all  began  to  dawn  upon  her. 
How  had  Mrs.  DeLacy  been  available  at  such  an 
hour?  Was  Hugh  in  her  company  at  the  time? 
Her  lips  curled  slightly  as  she  asked:  "Were  you 
at  that  party,  Mrs.  DeLacy?" 

Geraldine  drew  herself  haughtily  erect.  "I? 
Certainly  not!"  she  cried  indignantly.  "Why  do 
you  ask?" 

"Because  I  fail  to  understand  your  connection  in 
the  affair,"  replied  the  wife  coldly.  "What  are  you 
doing  here?  How  do  you  come  to  bring  Elinor 
home?" 

"Mr.  Benton  telephoned  to  me,"  Geraldine 
flushed  angrily  as  she  faced  Marjorie  Benton's  cold, 
accusing  eyes.  "He  knew  that  he  could  place  every 
confidence  in  me — and  asked  me  as  a  special  favor 
to  him,  to  bring  Elinor  home 

"I  understand."  Marjorie  spoke  simply,  but  with 
finality.  "Thank  you — and  good-night." 

"I  should  like  to  remain  if  you  don't  mind," 
Geraldine  strolled  impertinently  toward  the  daven- 
port, adding,  "until  Mr.  Benton  and  Howard  come." 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       207 

"Don't  you  think  it  indelicate  for  you  to  attempt 
to  intrude,  Mrs.  DeLacy?  This  is  a  time  when  the 
family  desire  to  be  alone." 

"I  realize  that,"  Geraldine  smiled  serenely.  "But 
don't  you  see,  when  one  is  such  a  trusted  friend,  I 
really  feel  as  if  I  were  one  of  the  family." 

Marjorie  Benton  had  felt  before  that  she  had 
stood  all  that  could  be  imposed  on  human  nature. 
But  now  she  found  that  it  had  been  only  a  begin- 
ning. The  cold,  unadulterated  nerve  of  the  woman 
who  assumed  such  prerogatives  so  casually,  and  at 
such  a  time,  was  beyond  anything  she  could  have 
'dreamed.  No  longer  was  she  physically  weak.  A 
great  power  was  given  to  her.  Gently  she  put  aside 
her  daughter's  clinging  hands  and  rose  to  her  feet 
with  a  firmness  born  of  indignation  too  great  for 
words. 

"Your  assumption  is  a  bit  previous,"  she  remarked 
icily.  "You  have  wrought  destruction  enough  in  this 
home  for  the  present.  I  am  sorry,  but  I  must  deny 
you  the  pleasure  of  remaining  longer." 

"Oh,  very  well!"  Geraldine  shrugged  her  shoul- 
ders meaningly,  as  she  turned  toward  the  door.  "I 
regret  exceedingly  that  you  will  not  accept  my  well- 
meant  offer  of  friendship.  If  you  should  need  me 
any  time,  Elinor,"  she  called  back,  "you  know  where 
to  find  me — good-night." 

Marjorie  stood  still  as  a  statue,  waiting  until  she 
heard  the  door  close  after  Mrs.  DeLacy.  Then  she 
resumed  her  chair,  pulled  a  low  stool  up  beside  her 
and  tenderly  seated  Elinor  upon  it. 

"Darling  little  girl,"  she  murmured  soothingly, 
gently  caressing  the  disordered  hair  which  futile 
hands  sought  to  arrange.  "Come,  tell  mother  every- 
thing. I — I'm  not  angry,  dear — my  heart  is  over- 
flowing with  love  and  sympathy  for  you,  and  I  want 
to  help  you!" 


208       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

One  upward  glance  the  girl  gave  her  mother. 
She  shook  her  head  sadly. 

"Your  love  and  your  desire  to  help  me,  mother, 
have  come  too  late." 

Marjorie  caught  her  breath  sharply. 

"Oh,  please!     Please,  dear,  don't  say  that!" 

"You've  kept  me  away  from  you  so  long,"  Elinor 
continued  apathetically,  plaintively.  "I  have  never 
been  able  to  confide  in  you.  The  wonderful  com- 
radeship I've  seen  between  other  girls  and  their 
mothers — never  existed  between  us.  Your  continual 
fault  finding  with  everything  I  did  forced  me  to  be 
untruthful,  and  to  deceive  you." 

"I  meant  it  all  for  your  good,  dear!"  Marjorie's 
voice  vibrated  with  emotion.  "You  will  believe  me 
— you  must! — when  I  tell  you  my  only  desire  was 
for  your  happiness!" 

"And  Howard!"  Elinor's  voice  was  bitter  in  its 
hysterical  condemnation.  "What  right  had  he  to 
judge  anyone?  Templeton  would  have  married  me, 
and  now — my  life  is  wrecked." 

"You  are  not  in  the  condition  to  realize  anything 
How.  Perhaps  later  you  will  be  able  to  view  all  this 
in  a  different  light.  Your  brother  must  love  you 
very " 

"Love  me!"  Elinor  screamed  wildly.  "He  has 
a  great  way  of  showing  it,  when  he  robs  me  of  all 
the  happiness  life  held  for  me!  Oh — I  hate  him! 
Even  if  he  is  my  brother,  I " 

"Oh — hush,  dear,  hush,"  Marjorie  placed  her 
hand  across  Elinor's  mouth,  "you  mustn't  talk  that 
way." 

"I — I  don't  know  what  I'm  going  to  do,  mother! 
I'm  almost  crazy!  I'm  so  frightened,  and  I  don't 
know  where  to  turn!"  The  girl's  passion  subsided 
into  a  wail  of  self-pity.  She  sobbed  and  buried  her 
head  in  Marjorie's  lap  again. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       209 

A  light  of  dawning  hope  slowly  welled  up  in  the 
woman's  anguished  eyes. 

"Turn  to  your  mother,  'darling,"  she  pleaded,  lov- 
ingly, tenderly,  "the  one  who  will  never  fail  you! 
Come — I'm  going  to  take  you  upstairs  and  put  you 
to  bed,  just  as  I  did  when  you  were  my  little  baby — 
and  I  shall  sit  beside  you  and  hold  your  hand,  dear, 
until  you  fall  asleep." 

Elinor  arose  wearily  and  stood  coldly  unre- 
sponsive to  her  mother's  declarations  of  love  and 
devotion.  She  submitted  passively  to  the  tender 
embrace  as  she  was  led  toward  the  hall. 

The  slamming  of  the  front  door  caused  them  both 
to  start  violently.  Howard,  wanly  pale  and  trem- 
bling, came  toward  them.  Marjorie's  arms  went 
out  to  him. 

"Oh— Howard— my  boy,  I— I '\ 

"Please,  mother!"  Howard  twisted  his  fingers  and 
pulled  at  his  collar.  "Don't  you  start  in  on  me — 
I'm  a  wreck,  and  my  nerves  are  all  shot  to  pieces 
now!  Dad  hasn't  stopped  talking  for  a  moment  all 
the  way  home — I  just  can't  stand  much  more !'  He 
walked  unsteadily  to  the  mantle  and  stood,  leaning 
his  head  upon  it. 

Elinor  dropped  back  to  the  large  chair  her  mother 
had  recently  occupied,  and  curled  up  in  it,  her  feet 
under  her,  her  head  buried  in  her  arms. 

In  a  few  quick  steps,  the  mother  crossed  the  room 
to  her  son's  side.  Her  arm  went  protectingly  about 
his  bowed,  weary  shoulders. 

"Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear!"  and  there  was  a  world 
of  sympathy  and  love  in  the  vibrating  voice,  "I'm 
not  going  to  upbraid  you!  I  just  want  to  tell  you 
that -" 

A  slight  sound  at  the  door  made  her  turn  to 
glance  over  her  shoulder.  Hugh  Benton  stood  there, 
stern  and  relentless.  His  eyes  roved  from  the 


210       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

stricken  girl  huddled  in  her  chair  to  rest  on  the  bowed 
head  of  his  son  and  the  mother  who  stood  beside 
him,  her  attitude  one  of  soothing. 

Like  a  cold  accusing  judge  he  stood  towering 
there.  Slowly  his  hand  came  up  into  a  sweeping 
gesture  to  include  the  scene.  Then  the  hand  was 
pointed  relentlessly,  imforgivingly,  at  the  suffering 
mother.  When  he  spoke  his  voice  was  harsh,  re- 
pelling. 

"Well,  Marjorie!"  he  bit  off  his  words,  "I  trust 
you're  satisfied!" 


CHAPTER  XVI 

"TjUGH!"     It  was  a  cry  of  pain  torn  from  the 

mother  heart.    But  even  in  her  anguish  for 

her  children  there  came  a  pang  for  the  man 

she  loved  as  she  gazed  at  him  wide-eyed,  distressed. 

He  seemed  to  have  aged  ten  years  since  his  interview 

with  her  only  a  few  hours  before.     His  face  was 

drawn  and  haggard.    Large,  dark  circles  were  about 

the  eyes.    The  wife  forced  herself  to  speak  calmly. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  queried. 

"I  mean,"  he  answered,  coming  slowly  into  the 
room  with  lagging  footsteps,  "that  this  is  all  your 
work!"  His  gesture  took  in  Elinor  and  Howard. 
"And  I  hope  it  pleases  you,"  he  repeated  bitterly. 

"Hugh,  at  a  time  like  this,  when  we  need  all  your 
strength  and  sympathy  to  sustain  us — you  speak  to 
me  like  this?"  Marjorie's  voice  was  full  of  reproach. 
"Why  do  you  use  such  tones  to  me?" 

"Because,"  he  replied  and  there  was  no  suspicion 
of  a  softening  heart  in  his  hard  voice,  "I  hold  you 
responsible  for  everything !  If  I  had  listened  to  the 
dictates  of  my  own  heart,  we  would  never  have 
come  to  New  York — but  I  was  weak  enough  to  yield 
to  your  persuasions." 

"Surely,  Hugh, — "  Marjorie's  lips  quivered  piti- 
fully as  she  started  to  protest,  but  he  authoritatively 
motioned  her  to  silence. 

"I  tried  to  argue  with  you  at  the  time  and  impress 
upon  you  just  what  an  environment  such  as  this 
would  mean  to  our  children,  but  you  wouldn't  listen 
to  me!"  he  raged.  "You  told  me  that  you,  their 
mother,  should  know  what  was  best  for  them.  Well, 

211 


2i2       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

there  they  are!  Look  at  your  daughter,  the  pitiful 
creature  of  a  dissolute  man's  fancy,  and  your  son, 
a " 

"Stop,  Hugh!"  Marjorie  commanded.  "You 
seem  to  forget  one  thing,  and  that  is,  that  they  are 
your  children  as  well  as  mine." 

"On  the  contrary, — I  have  not  forgotten  it.  I  am 
simply  trying  to  impress  upon  them  that  I  am  not  to 
blame  for  their  misfortunes." 

"Then  you  believe  that  I  alone  am  entirely 
responsible  for  this  awful  calamity?" 

"Entirely  and  absolutely,"  he  answered. 

"And  you  call  yourself  a  man!"  Marjorie  turned 
upon  him,  her  eyes  ablaze  with  anger.  "You  inspire 
me  only  with  contempt!  Last  night  I  thought  be- 
cause of  the  children  I  could  never  leave  you !  But 
now,  for  the  very  same  reason,  I  refuse  to  remain 
or  to  allow  them  to  remain  with  you  another  day!" 

This  was  rather  more  than  the  angry  man  had 
bargained  for.  In  his  way  he  loved  Howard  and 
Elinor,  and  his  pride,  too,  was  at  stake. 

"Do  you  mean,"  Hugh  endeavored  to  conceal  his 
anxiety  but  it  was  nevertheless  poignant,  "that  you 
will  take  Elinor  and  Howard  away  from  me?" 

"That  is  precisely  what  I  mean  to  do!" 

"We  shall  see  about  that."  He  strode  forward 
angrily.  "I  think  the  children  themselves  are  the 
ones  to  choose  between  us." 

"Do  you  imagine  for  a  moment,"  Marjorie  re- 
plied haughtily,  "you  could  persuade  them  to  leave 
their  mother?" 

"Elinor  and  Howard,"  Hugh  began  suddenly,  "I 
want  you  both  to  listen  to  me  for  a  moment." 

Elinor  sat  up  in  her  chair,  dabbing  at  her  eyes 
with  her  handkerchief,  while  Howard  turned  and 
stood  with  his  back  to  the  fireplace,  staring  sullenly 
in  front  of  him. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       213 

"Children,  your  mother  and  I  have  come  to  the 
parting  of  the  ways.  As  you  heard  her  remark  a 
few  minutes  ago — you  are  mine  as  well  as  hers.  I 
love  you  both,  and — I  want  you — but  you  are  old 
enough  to  decide  for  yourselves." 

Silence,  distressing  in  its  intensity,  followed  the 
father's  brutal  ultimatum. 

"Oh — I — I  don't  know  what  to  say?"  Elinor  was 
filled  with  confusion.  Her  wail  was  faltering. 
"This  is  all  so  sudden — so  strange!" 

"You  know,  dear,"  Hugh  strode  to  her  chair,  and 
stood  looking  down  upon  her,  "I  am  willing  to  do 
anything  for  you — I  will  take  you  abroad  until  this 
nasty  scandal  has  a  chance  to  blow  over,  and  when 
we  return,  should  you  have  any  enemies  you  will 
find  that  the  best  weapon  with  which  to  fight  them 
is  your  father's  money." 

"Elinor,  darling,"  Marjorie  pleaded,  "all  that  I 
can  do  is  to  offer  you  my  love  and  devotion — and 
when  it  comes  to  protection,  you  will  find  that  there 
isn't  a  weapon  in  the  world  to  compare  with  your 
mother's  love." 

"Oh,  mother — I — I  don't  know  what  to  say!" 
Once  more  the  girl's  frail  body  was  racked  with 
sobs  as  she  sought  to  see  the  light — what  best  to  do. 
"Dad  has  always  been  wonderful  to  me!  Ever 
since  I  can  remember,  he  has  granted  my  every  wish ! 
I  don't  know  how  to  answer!  Oh,  what  shall  I 
say?" 

"This  is  a  question  that  your  heart  must  answer 
for  you,  dear."  Marjorie's  reply  was  faint  but  her 
voice  told  of  the  heart  yearning  behind  the  simple 
reply.  "I — I  didn't  believe,"  she  caught  her  breath 
sobbingly,  "you  would  hesitate  an  instant." 

"Well,  you  see,  mother,"  Elinor's  mood  changed 
to  querulousness  and  she  pouted,  "I've  always  been 
selfish  and  headstrong — you've  told  me  so  yourself 


2i4       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

many  times!  So  I — I  think — if  you  don't  mind," 
she  dropped  her  eyes  and  stared  at  the  floor,  "I — I 
shall  stick  to  Dad!  I  guess  he'll  understand  me 
better!" 

"My  little  girl!"  Hugh  exclaimed  tenderly,  as  he 
leaned  over  and  gathered  her  in  his  arms. 

"Oh — my  baby — my  baby!"  Marjorie  moaned, 
her  arms  outstretched  before  her,  the  tears  rolling 
down  her  cheeks. 

"Well,  Howard!  We're  waiting!"  Hugh  turned 
expectantly  to  his  son. 

Howard  looked  his  father  squarely  in  the  eye  as 
he  demanded,  with  slow  deliberation:  "Well — what 
are  you  waiting  for?" 

"This  is  an  awful  mess — that  you  have  gotten 
yourself  into,"  Hugh  hastened  to  explain,  but  his 
eyes  wavered  before  the  steady  gaze  of  his  son. 
"My  attorney  says  there  isn't  a  doubt  concerning 
your  vindication.  All  of  the  witnesses  swear  that 
it  was  either  an  accident  or  self-defense — and  your 
motive  for  quarreling  was  thoroughly  justifiable — 
but  just  the  same,  the  law  has  peculiar  twists  and 
angles — and  it  is  going  to  take  a  fortune  to  save 
you." 

"Well?" 

"I  want  to  keep  you  with  me,  Howard — and  my 
money " 

"Stop!"  It  was  a  son  he  had  never  known  who 
took  a  menacing  step  toward  him,  rage  flaming  in 
the  eyes  of  scorn  with  which  he  searched  out  his 
father's  soul.  "You  and  your  money!"  He  flung 
out.  "You  think  that  with  it  you  can  conquer  the 
world !  You  hold  my  mother  responsible  for  all  this 
trouble — don't  you  ?  Do  you  want  to  know  the  real 
cause  of  all  the  suffering  in  this  room  to-night?  I'll 
tell  you — it's  your  money !  The  thing  that  made  me 
the  good-for-nothing  idler  that  I  am — that  made  my 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       215 

sister  the  frivolous  callous-hearted  woman  you  see 
before  you!  Your  money!  You  may  buy  another 
woman  with  it  and  break  my  mother's  heart!  You 
may  make  Elinor  forget  that  some  day  she  may  have 
children  of  her  own — but  if  you  think,  for  a  moment, 
that  you  can  make  me  forget  my  manhood  to  the 
extent  of  deserting  my  mother,  then  even  prison  is 
far  too  good  for  me !" 

Marjorie  stared  at  him  in  amazement!  Slowly 
she  awakened  from  her  apathy.  In  a  dawning  glory 
that  transformed  her,  her  face  was  aglow  with 
mother-love.  Her  eyes,  dim  from  grief  and  weep- 
ing, fairly  beamed  with  pride  and  joy.  Hugh  walked 
the  length  of  the  room  twice  without  speaking.  He 
strove  to  master  himself,  but  the  selfish  anger  had 
not  been  conquered  when  he  came  to  a  stop  before 
his  son. 

"So  that  is  the  way  you  look  at  it.  Isn't  this  dis- 
play of  chivalry  rather  sudden?"  The  sneer  was 
in  his  voice  and  words. 

"I  know  that  I've  never  amounted  to  very  much," 
Howard  was  ready  to  acknowledge  his  short-com- 
ings, "but  I  think,  Dad,  now  that  it  has  come  to  a 
showdown — I'm  more  of  a  man  than  you  are !" 

Tiger  and  cub,  they  faced  each  other,  glaring. 

"I've  had  enough  of  this."  Hugh's  voice  was 
thunder  when  he  was  first  to  break  under  the  strain. 
"Go  with  your  mother!  Play  the  hero  as  much  as 
you  damned  please  !  I'm  through  with  you  !  You'll 
find  it  pretty  hard  to  get  out  of  this  trouble  without 
a  penny  of  the  money  you  scorn  to  help  you !" 

"I'll  take  my  chances  with  hundreds  of  others — 
that's  all."  Howard's  serene  reply  held  the  indul- 
gence of  the  conqueror. 

Marjorie  Benton,  too  heartfull  to  speak,  to 
stand  between  father  and  son,  could  hardly  realize 
that  this  wonderful  boy,  standing  there,  superbly 


2i 6       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

defending  her,  was  her  son!  Never  for  a  moment 
had  she  doubted  Elinor's  loyalty,  and  the  blow  she 
had  received  from  her  had  been  as  unexpected  as 
crushing. 

Now,  as  her  husband  stalked  toward  the  door 
with  the  finality  she  knew  so  well,  she  hurried  across 
the  space  to  place  herself  in  the  doorway,  obstruct- 
ing his  passage.  There  was  no  hint  of  pleading  now, 
though.  All  that  had  gone  from  Marjorie  Benton 
forever.  But  there  was  in  the  determination  with 
which  she  barred  Hugh  Benton's  way  something 
greater — the  greatest  thing  in  all  the  world — the 
determination  of  the  mother  to  fight  for  the  child 
she  loves.  Her  voice  was  menacingly  soft  as  she 
spoke,  ignoring  his  annoyed  gesture  to  be  allowed  to 
past. 

"Just  a  moment,  Hugh,"  she  said,  "we  have  not 
quite  finished  yet.  Last  night,"  she  went  on,  "you 
made  me  an  offer.  You  have  not  forgotten  it?" 

"An  offer?"  Hugh  lifted  eyebrows  in  puzzled 
surprise. 

"You  said  if  I  would  consent  to  a  divorce,  you 
would  arrange  everything  and  settle  three-quarters 
of  your  fortune  upon  me." 

"Yes — I  believe  I  did  say  that." 

"Are  you  still  willing  to  go  through  with  it?" 

"Most  assuredly  I  am." 

"Then,"  Marjorie's  voice  rang  clear  as  a  bell,  "I 
accept  your  proposition !  Get  your  divorce  any  way 
that  you  please!  I  don't  care  what  the  grounds 
are — only  see  that  I  am  given  every  dollar  that  you 
promised  me!" 

"I  understand,"  Hugh  sneered.  "You  intend 
using  that  money  for  Howard." 

"What  difference  can  it  make  to  you — how  I  in- 
tend using  it?"  she  inquired  coldly. 

His  voice  was  cold  as  her  own  as  he  rejoined: 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       217 

"Nothing  matters  to  me — except  my  freedom. 
Come,  baby!"  He  looked  pityingly  at  Elinor. 
"You're  completely  worn  out — I'm  going  to  take 
you  upstairs." 

Alone  with  his  mother,  Howard's  diffidence  re- 
turned. In  spite  of  all  his  newly-found  chivalry  he 
did  not  feel  at  ease. 

"Mother,"  he  began,  "I  can't  let  you  do  this  for 
me.  You  don't  believe  in  divorce." 

"I  believe  in  a  great  many  things,"  Marjorie 
answered,  her  eyes  filled  with  unshed  tears,  "that 
I  never  believed  before.  I  believe  that  it  takes  a 
great  sorrow  to  bring  forth  the  real  character  of  a 
true  man  or  woman." 

"You  never  would  have  given  father  his  freedom 
if  this  hadn't  happened  with  me." 

Marjorie  placed  both  hands  tenderly  upon  How- 
ard's shoulders  and  looked  up  at  him  with  eyes 
brimming  with  love. 

"I'm  so  proud  of  you — my  son  I"  she  murmured. 

"Gee  whiz,  mater,"  Howard  was  the  boy  once 
more, — the  boy  who  shied  at  too  much  display  of 
emotion!  "I  only  did  what  any  fellow  would  do." 

"Your  father  has  always  been  such  a  pal  to  you, 
while  I  have  never  been — very  close — and  yet  you 
turn  to  me.  I — I  can't  understand  why!"  she  mur- 
mured on  softly. 

"Oh — well — you  know,  father's  all  right — but 
there's  something  about  a  boy's  mother — Gee! — 
that  gets  him,  from  the  time  he's  born  till  he's  an 
old  man." 

"Do  you  know,  dear,  that  at  this  moment,  when 
I  should  be  heart-broken,  I  am  the  happiest  woman 
in  the  world!" 

"But  mother,  you're  crying,"  he  protested. 

"Tears  of  joy,  dear  —  because  —  I  am  your 
mother!" 


2i8       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

"I've  never  done  a  thing  in  my  life  to  make  you 
proud  of  me,  mother,  and  now  I've  brought  this 
new  disgrace  upon  you.  It  seems  almost  too  bad 
that  Druid  didn't  get  me  first." 

"Hush,  dear!"  Marjorie  shivered.  "You  are  all 
that  I  have,  now,  and  we  will  face  this  thing 
bravely — together." 

There  was  little  sleep  for  any  members  of  the 
Benton  family  that  night,  or  rather  morning,  as  it 
was  close  to  five  o'clock  before  they  retired.  When 
Mr.  Hammond  called  at  ten  o'clock,  he  found  Hugh 
waiting  in  the  library  for  him. 

"Good  morning,  Benton,"  he  began  in  his  abrupt 
manner.  "Hope  you  managed  to  get  some  rest? 
IVe  been  busy  since  before  eight,  and  I'm  afraid 
things  are  not  going  to  be  quite  as  simple  as  they 
seemed  a  few  hours  ago." 

"Why — what  do  you  mean?"  Hugh  asked  anx- 
iously. 

"Well  it  seems  that  Howard  did  a  lot  of  talking 
at  the  club  before  he  went  to  Druid's  apartment.  He 
spoke  to  two  of  the  members,  and  the  entire  con- 
versation was  overheard  by  the  coat-boy." 

"What  could  he  have  said?" 

"Oh,  many  things — all  leading  up  to  the  state- 
ment 'that  he  intended  to  get  Druid  and  settle  with 
him  for  ruining  his  sister's  reputation.'  Mind — I 
don't  say  this  will  make  any  difference  in  the  out- 
come of  it  all — it  will  just  complicate  matters.  If 
it  hadn't  been  for  the  influence  we  brought  forward 
last  night,  I  don't  believe  we  should  have  been  able 
to  bail  him  out  until  after  the  coroner's  inquest." 

"When  does  that  take  place?" 

"This  afternoon." 

"Just  what  do  you  think  their  verdict  will  be, 
Hammond?" 

"I  expect  it  to  be  'death  by  accident,'  '  the 
lawyer  answered  confidently.  "Then  this  thing  will 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       219 

never  have  to  be  tried.  Now  I'd  like  to  have  a  talk 
with  both  Elinor  and  Howard.  Are  they  up 
yet?" 

"I  believe  so,"  Hugh  answered.  "Would  it  be 
possible  for  you  to  give  me  about  half  an  hour  of 
your  time  before  seeing  them?" 

"Why,  yes!"  Hammond  pulled  out  his  watch. 
"We  don't  have  to  be  downtown  until  two  o'clock." 

Hugh  opened  the  bottom  drawer  of  his  desk  and 
brought  out  a  box  of  choice  Havanas.  He  offered 
them  to  the  lawyer,  then  lighted  one  himself.  But 
he  was  apparently  ill  at  ease  as  Hammond  waited 
inquiringly. 

"You  and  I  have  been  friends  a  great  many  years, 
haven't  we,  Hammond?"  was  his  beginning. 

"Indeed,  we  have,"  Hammond  replied  warmly. 
"I  am  happy  to  have  you  look  upon  me  as  your 
friend  instead  of  merely  your  attorney." 

"I  need  your  friendship  now,  Hammond,  more 
than  I  ever  needed  anything  in  my  life." 

Hammond  grasped  his  hand  firmly:  "You  can 
depend  upon  me,  Hugh.  Had  Howard  been  any- 
one's son  but  yours,  I  should  never  have  bothered 
with  this  case.  You  know  it  is  entirely  out  of  my 
line  of  work." 

"It  is  not  about  Howard  at  all  that  I  wish  to 
speak,"  Hugh  announced  calmly. 

"No?    Of  whom  then?" 

"Myself " 

"Yourself?"  Hammond  inquired,  surprisedly. 

"Myself  and  my  wife.  Hammond,  you  will  no 
doubt  be  very  much  surprised  to  hear  that  Mrs.  Ben- 
ton  and  I  have  agreed — to  separate." 

"Separate !  Why  I  can't  believe  it !"  The  lawyer 
seemed  dumfounded  at  the  news.  "You  have  a 
grown  son  and  daughter,  and  you  have  been  married 
a  great  many  years.  Why  I  thought  that  you  and 
Mrs.  Benton " 


220       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

"You  thought  the  same  thing  as  everyone  else 
who  knows  us,"  Hugh  interrupted  with  undisguised 
bitterness,  "that  we  are  an  absolutely  mismated 
couple  endeavoring  to  drag  out  an  unhappy  existence 
together." 

"You're  wrong,  Benton.  I  never  thought  that.  I 
knew  that  Mrs.  Benton  was  different  from  the  ma- 
jority of  the  women  of  to-day,  and  candidly  speak- 
ing, I  admired  her  for  that  very  reason." 

"But  don't  you  think  Mrs.  Benton  carries  her 
ideas  of  propriety  rather  to  the  extreme?"  Hugh 
asked  irritably. 

"That  depends  entirely  upon  the  way  you  look  at 
it.  I  must  confess  that  I  am  somewhat  of  the  old 
school  myself,  and  therefore  I  don't  particularly 
approve  of  your  modern  'feminists,'  as  I  believe  they 
choose  to  call  themselves." 

"Just  what  is  your  definition  of  'feminist,'  "  asked 
Hugh.  "And  why  the  disapproval?" 

"Because,"  and  there  was  a  dreaminess  in  Ham- 
mond's eyes  that  would  have  astonished  many  a  judge 
and  lawyer  in  New  York  city,  could  they  but  have 
seen  it,  "they  have  tried  to  replace  the  most  won- 
derful women  of  all  times — the  women  of  bygone 
years — the  women  our  mothers  were.  Instead  of 
glorying  in  wifehood  and  motherhood — the  true 
mission  of  every  womanly  woman — they  launch  forth 
into  politics  or  business  or  professions  with  ambi- 
tions and  determinations  worthy  of  men,  or  else  they 
fritter  their  lives  away,  becoming  more  and  more 
useless  every  day." 

"Why,  Hammond,  you  speak  as  though  you  have 
been  the  victim  of  a  bitter  experience." 

"No,"  was  the  answer,  with  a  shake  of  the  head, 
"I'm  not  speaking  from  experience  at  all — I'm 
speaking  from  observation.  In  my  career,  I  can 
view  the  drama  of  Life  from  a  front-seat." 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       221 

"Strange,"  Hugh  meditated.  "In  all  the  years 
that  I  have  known  you,  John  Hammond,  I  never 
once  suspected  that  you,  with  your  abrupt  manner 
and  stern  demeanor  could  be  an  idealist." 

"Well,"  he  laughed,  "I  wouldn't  go  quite  so  far 
as  to  say  I  am  an  idealist,  but  I  do  admire  and  hold 
in  the  highest  esteem  a  true  woman." 

"But  you  won't  permit  your  ideas  to  influence  you 
— you'll  be  perfectly  fair  with  me?"  Hugh  de- 
manded. 

"I  always  try  to  be  fair,  Benton — but  in  this  case 
I'll  be  more  than  fair,  inasmuch  as  we  will  not  con- 
sider this  an  interview  between  client  and  attorney, 
but  a  talk — between  friends." 

"Fine,  Hammond — I  couldn't  ask  for  more. 
Now,  then,  as  I  told  you  before,  Mrs.  Benton  and 
myself  have  agreed  to  separate." 

"Yes?    May  I  ask  why?" 

"Incompatibility,  for  one  thing,"  answered  Benton, 
his  eyes  roving  about  the  room.  Those  searching 
orbs  of  the  lawyer  made  him  nervous,  he  fretted  to 
himself. 

Hammond  was  silent  a  moment:  then  abruptly  he 
asked:  "Just  how  many  years  have  you  been 
married?" 

"Almost  twenty-two." 

"And  it  has  taken  you  two  people  twenty-two 
years  to  discover  that  you  are  incompatible?  You 
asked  me  to  be  fair,  Benton — I  in  return  must  ask 
you  to  be  honest  with  me?" 

"But— I  don't " 

"You're  asking  for  my  advice,"  Hammond  con- 
tinued sharply.  "Why  don't  you  come  out  at  once 
and  tell  me  plainly  that  you  have  lost  your  head  over 
another  woman?" 

"Why — I — "  Hugh  blushed  an'd  stammered  un- 
easily, "I  thought  to  give  you  the  facts  as  delicately 


222       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

as  possible.  Your  method  seems — er — pardon  me 
— almost  crude." 

"Come,  come,  Benton,"  Hammond  replied  im- 
patiently. "I  don't  believe  in  beating  about  the 
bushl  You  can't  change  a  deed  or  a  statement  by 
attempting  to  glaze  it  over  with  a  polish.  The 
fundamental  fact  remains  the  same  no  matter  what 
you  do.  Just  a  minute,  please,"  as  Hugh  endeavored 
to  interrupt  him,  "let  me  tell  you  that  I'll  have  a 
great  deal  more  respect  for  you  if  you  stop  this  quib- 
bling and  come  out  with  the  plain  truth!" 

"Very  well,  then.  I  have  fallen  in  love  with  an- 
other woman,  and  I  want  to  marry  her." 

"Of  course,  you  know  you  could  never  obtain  a 
divorce  from  Mrs.  Benton?" 

"Mrs.  Benton  has  agreed  to  obtain  the  divorce 
fiom  me.  I  will  arrange  all  of  the  details,  and  I 
want  you  to  help  me." 

"Does  Mrs.  Benton  know  on  what  grounds  she 
will  have  to  bring  suit?"  Hammond  inquired  in 
surprise. 

"Certainly  she  knows!"  Benton  was  becoming 
irascible.  He  was  unused  to  being  talked  to  like  a 
naughty  child,  and  Hammond's  tone,  to  say  the 
least,  was  not  the  kind  the  financier  usually  heard. 
"We  have  discussed  the  New  York  State  laws,"  he 
replied. 

Hammond  pondered  seriously  and  there  was  a 
chilling  change  from  the  friendliness  of  a  moment 
before  when  he  asked: 

"Just  when  did  you  reach  this  decision?  I  can 
readily  understand  your  not  mentioning  it  to  me  last 
night  in  all  the  excitement,  but  you  were  in  my 
office  two  days  ago  and  never  said  a  word.  If  I 
remember  rightly,  I  inquired  after  Mrs.  Benton, 
which  would  have  given  you  an  opening  should  you 
have  desired  to  speak?" 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       223 

"We  only  reached  an  understanding  early  this 
morning,"  Hugh  answered  hurriedly,  "after  I  came 
home  with  Howard.  I  had  talked  it  over  with 
Marjorie — before — but  she  refused  to  listen.  Some- 
thing happened  this  morning — and  she  changed  her 
mind." 

"If  it  is  not  too  personal,  wouldtyou  mind  telling 
me  just  what  that  'something'  was?" 

Hugh  Benton  threw  all  subterfuge  to  the  winds. 
This  man  was  too  good  a  cross-examiner.  He  would 
make  a  clean  breast  of  it  and  have  done  with  it  once 
and  for  all.  It  was  an  abominable  mess,  however 
it  was  taken. 

"Oh,  well,  if  you  must  know,"  and  his  wide 
shoulders  lifted,  "I  may  as  well  tell  you  now  as  any 
time,  for  you  will  have  to  know  it  in  order  to  help 
me  arrange  my  affairs.  You  see,  Hammond,  when 
we  first  came  to  New  York  to  live,  it  was  entirely 
against  my  wishes.  We  had  been  married  five  years 
at  the  time,  and  the  heated  discussion  and  argument 
concerning  this  move  caused  our  first  quarrel.  Being 
young  and  very  much  in  love,  I  couldn't  hold  out 
long  against  my  wife's  desires.  She  was  filled  with 
ambitions  for  us  all,  and  to  her  New  York  spelled 
one  word  in  capital  letters,  and  that  was  'Success.'  " 

"Well,  from  all  that  I  happen  to  know  about  your 
affairs,"  the  lawyer  glanced  about  the  sumptuously 
furnished  room,  "you  seem  to  have  given  her  her 
desire." 

"Yes,"  Hugh  answered  bitterly,  "from  a  financial 
viewpoint,  I  suppose  I  am  a  success — but — outside 
of  that "  He  compressed  his  lips  tightly  for  a  mo- 
ment. "Oh,  I'm  not  going  to  play  upon  your  sym- 
pathy, Hammond,  and  go  into  every  little  detail 
regarding  the  misery  of  many  years!  All  I'll  say  is 
that  it  has  been — hell." 

The  lawyer  looked  his  surprise. 


224       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

"Apparently  you've  always  been  the  happiest  of 
men — why  everyone " 

Hugh  Benton  broke  in  irritably.  "Surely  you 
don't  expect  me  to  go  about  like  a  woman  carrying 
my  heart  on  my  sleeve!  I'll  tell  you  one  thing, 
Hammond,"  and  he  jumped  up  excitedly,  "when  two 
people  cease  to  care  for  one  another — when  they 
reach  a  state  of  absolute  indifference  and  still  con- 
tinue to  live  together  under  the  same  roof — it's  a 
crime !  They  go  on — either  because  they  think  they 
owe  a  duty  to  children — God,  children!"  He  cov- 
ered his  face  with  his  hands,  and  there  was  weariness 
in  all  his  features  as  he  looked  up  to  continue:  "Or 
else,  they  fear  the  censorship  of  the  world!  And 
for  one  of  these  two  damnable  creeds,  they  condemn 
themselves  to  years  of  torture !" 

"I'm  sorry,  old  man,  to  think  that  things  have 
been  as  bad  as  that,"  Hammond  was  not  unsympa- 
thetic, but  he  was  beginning  to  wonder  if  sympathy 
would  not  be  wasted  here. 

"I  didn't  mean  to  drift  into  all  this,"  Hugh  sighed, 
impatient  at  his  own  garrulity  as  he  went  on:  "But 
the  remark  you  passed  about  my  success  started  me 
off !  Let's  get  back  to  where  we  were  and  finish 
this  thing." 

"Exactly — where  were  we?  Oh,  yes,  I  remember. 
You  are  to  furnish  the  grounds,  and  Mrs.  Benton  is 
to  divorce  you." 

"I'll  tell  you  just  what  I  propose  doing."  Hugh 
drew  his  chair  closer  and  proceeded  to  lay  out  his 
plan.  It  was  a  lengthy  recital,  during  which  he  kept 
his  gaze  focused  on  his  desk.  He  wouldn't  have 
admitted  even  to  himself  that  he  was  doing  some- 
thing of  which  he  should  feel  ashamed,  and  yet 
there  was  that  within  him  which  prevented  him  from 
once  lifting  his  eyes  and  looking  the  lawyer  in  the 
face. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       225 

"I  understand."  It  was  with  difficulty  Hammond 
managed  to  subdue  the  ring  of  contempt  in  his  voice. 
"You  have  thought  it  all  out  admirably;  it  should 
do  you  credit." 

Benton  looked  up  quickly,  but  Hammond's  expres- 
sion was  blank.  He  must  be  mistaken  in  thinking 
that  last  remark  revealed  a  tinge  of  veiled  sarcasm. 

"Have  you  any  suggestions  to  offer?"  he  asked, 
lighting  a  fresh  cigar. 

"I  may  have  several  to  offer — but  first  it  will  be 
necessary  for  me  to  ask  you  a  few  questions."  Ham- 
mond's reply  was  calmly  non-committal. 

"Very  well — go  ahead." 

"I  asked  you  this  question  before,  but  you  hap- 
pened to  drift  away  from  the  subject.  What  I  want 
to  know  is — just  what  was  it  that  caused  Mrs.  Ben- 
ton  to  change  her  mind?" 

"Early  last  evening,  I  went  to  my  wife  honestly," 
Hugh  was  angry  to  feel  himself  blushing  at  the 
word,  "told  her  exactly  what  had  happened  and 
pleaded  with  her  to  grant  me  my  freedom.  She 
refused,  absolutely,  and  I  left  the  house  indignant 
and  determined  to  find  some  way  or  means  by  which 
I  could  compel  her  to  listen  to  me.  When  I  came 
home  with  Howard  this  morning,  I  lost  complete 
control  of  myself  and  accused  her  openly  of  being 
responsible  for  all  the  misfortune  which  had  come 
to  us." 

"Did  that  seem  fair — to  you?"  Hammond  de- 
manded sternly. 

"Yes — it  did."  Stubbornly  Hugh  held  to  his 
fatuous  belief  and  condoning  of  himself.  "She  was 
entirely  to  blame  for  our  coming  here,  and " 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  Benton."  Irritably  the 
lawyer  jumped  from  his  chair  to  pace  the  floor. 
"You  can't  mean  to  sit  there — a  man  of  your  intelli- 
gence— and  tell  me,  with  all  sincerity,  that  you  hold 


226       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

your  coming  to  New  York  responsible  for  the  ex- 
isting conditions?" 

"Absolutely!    If  we  had  remained  in " 

"What  about  Fate  or  Destiny,  or  whatever  you 
choose  to  call  it,  playing  a  part  in  your  life,  and  all 
the  other  lives  about  you?  New  York!  Ridiculous, 
I  tell  you!  Had  you  been  in  Paris,  France,  or 
Trenton,  New  Jersey,  you  would  have  stood  just 
exactly  where  you  stand  to-day.  Don't  you  believe 
at  all  in  predestination?" 

"I  do,  in  every  instance — but  this." 

"How  interesting!  But  go  on — we'll  come  back 
to  this  later —  After  you  upbraided  Mrs.  Benton, 
'et  cetera — what  happened?" 

"One  word  led  to  another,"  Hugh  answered,  pre- 
tending to  ignore  Hammond's  sarcasm,  "and  finally 
she  declared  that  'she  would  leave  me  and  take  the 
children  with  her!'  " 

"Mm,  I  see!    And  then?" 

"I  told  her  the  children  were  no  longer  babies — 
that  they  were  old  enough  to  decide  for  themselves, 
and  then  I  endeavored  to  make  the  situation  clear 
to  them.  Elinor  came  to  the  conclusion  that  she 
would  prefer  to  remain  with  me " 

Hammond  merely  smiled,  but  Hugh  did  not  see 
the  movement  of  the  lips  under  the  grizzled  mus- 
tache that  formed:  "Selfish  little  beast." 

"Howard  handed  me  the  surprise  of  my  life," 
Hugh  continued  in  a  tone  of  self-pity.  "When  I 
explained  to  him  that  this  mess  he  had  gotten  him- 
self into  would  cost  me  a  fortune,  but  that  I  was 
willing  to  spend  it  if  he  would  remain  with  me,  why, 
he  turned  on  me  like  a  maniac  and  denounced  me 
shamefully!  Acted  like  the  hero  in  a  dime  novel 
— played  heroics  to  a  fare-thee-well — ending  up  by 
telling  me  plainly  just  what  he  thought  of  me  and 
my  money!" 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       227 

Hammond's  eyes  shone  bright  as  he  urged:  "Yes! 
Yes!  Go  on — I'm  greatly  interested." 

"He  had  tried  my  patience  a  bit  too  far,  so  I 
ordered  him  to  go  and  see  just  where  he  would  find 
himself  without  my  money.  Then  Mrs.  Benton 
made  her  entrance  dramatically,  as  I  daresay  she 
believed.  She  declared  she  would  accept  my  offer 
of  the  early  evening,  and  grant  me  my  freedom  pro- 
viding I  gave  her  the  money  I  had  promised  her." 

"It  is  like  her,  to  do  a  thing  like  that,"  Ham- 
mond murmured,  almost  inaudibly,  "and  you  con- 
sented— I  suppose?"  He  turned  inquiringly  to 
Benton. 

"Certainly — I  wanted  my  freedom,  and  if  Fate 
chose  to  bring " 

"Ah!"  the  lawyer  interrupted  him.  "There  you 
are!  Now  you  believe  in  Fate!  This  is  evidently 
one  of  the  instances  when  you  choose  to  believe  in 
it."  In  a  twinkling  the  lawyer's  attitude  changed. 
All  semblance  of  friendship  dropped  from  him  like 
a  cloak.  He  turned  on  the  financier  with  accusingly 
uplifted  hand  while  the  voice  that  so  often  had 
brought  terror  to  the  heart  of  a  culprit,  had  swayed 
juries  and  filled  courtrooms,  thundered.  "You're  a 
coward,  Hugh  Benton!  You  want  to  leave  this 
woman,  who  has  been  your  wife  for  twenty-two 
years,  and  the  mother  of  your  children,  for  another 
woman  and  you're  afraid  to  acknowledge  that  you 
yourself  are  to  blame  and " 

"But  I'm  not  to  blame,"  Hugh  insisted.  "I  told 
you  that  we  have  been  uncongenial  for  years " 

"You  managed  to  stand  the  uncongeniality  in  your 
home  for  twenty-two  years,  and  you  would  have 
stood  it  to  the  very  end — if  some  other  woman 
hadn't  aroused  your  passion." 

"See  here,  Hammond,"  Hugh  turned  white. 
Hammond  was  going  too  far  entirely.  "I  don't  like 


your  tone.  You're  my  attorney,  and  you  said  you 
were  my  friend.  That  is  why  I  am  telling  you  all 
this.  I  didn't  ask  you  for  your  opinion  of  me,  and 
it's  immaterial  whether  my  conduct  meets  with  your 
approval  or  not!  If  you  don't  wish  to  handle  my 
affairs,  say  so — I  shall  be  able  to  find  another  at- 
torney in  the  city." 

"Precisely!"  Hammond  roared.  "You  haven't 
an  inducement  you  could  offer  with  which  to  retain 
my  services!  I've  curbed  my  impatience  with  diffi- 
culty in  order  to  let  you  reach  the  end  of  your  nar- 
rative. Now  I  want  to  tell  you  that  after  twenty- 
five  years  of  practice,  I  find  myself  unable  to  read 
a  man's  character  correctly.  I  was  never  so  (deceived 
in  all  my  life  as  I  have  been  in  you,  Hugh  Benton, 
and  I  blush  to  think  I  called  you — friend!" 


CHAPTER  XVII 

"T  rERY  well,  Hammond,"  Hugh  arose  wearily 

V/  from  his  chair,  "I'm  not  going  to  quarrel 
with  you,"  he  informed.  "I'm  sorry  to  lose 
your  friendship,  b  t  as  long  as  you  feel  the  way  you 
do — perhaps  it's  just  as  well." 

"Benton,  I'm  going  to  be  candid  with  you,  and 
tell  you  that  I  intend  offering  my  services  to  Howard 
and  Mrs.  Benton.  The  boy  will  need  help  and  I'm 
going  to  stand  by  him,"  Hammond  announced  as  he 
stood  up  to  leave. 

"Griggs,"  he  said  to  the  waiting  butler  when  he 
reached  the  hall,  "will  you  kindly  ask  Mrs.  Benton 
to  see  me  for  a  few  moments?  Tell  her  I  wish  to 
speak  to  her  on  a  matter  of  great  importance." 

"Mrs.  Benton  will  be  with  you  directly,  sir." 
Griggs  returned  with  the  message  almost  immedi- 
ately. "Will  you  wait  here?"  he  asked,  indicating 
Marjorie's  morning  room  as  he  opened  the  door. 

Hammond  stood  gazing  out  of  the  window  when 
the  mother  of  Howard  entered. 

She  held  out  her  hand.  "You  wish  to  see  me, 
Mr.  Hammond?"  she  murmured  politely,  though 
the  paleness  of  her  face,  the  distraught  manner 
showed  plainly  how  pain  had  been  with  her  through 
the  hours.  She  added,  hesitatingly :  "I  think  I  know 
why.  But  after  the  events  of  last  night,  and  this 
morning,  don't  you  think  Hugh  could  have  been  a 
little  more  considerate,  and  at  least  had  waited  a 
day  before  sending  his  attorney  to  me?" 

"Mr.  Benton  didn't  send  me  at  all,  Mrs.  Benton 
— I've  come  of  my  own  accord." 

"But  I  don't  understand.  You've,  always  been 
229 


23o       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

Hugh's  attorney,  so  naturally  I  thought  he  had  con- 
sulted you,  and  Howard  told  me  you  were  with  him 
— last  night."  Her  lips  quivered  pitifully  over  the 
last  two  words. 

Hammond  nodded.  "Yes — I  was  with  him  last 
night,  and  I  have  been  closeted  with  him  in  the  li- 
brary for  the  past  half  hour  or  so,  just  long  enough 
for  me  to  refuse  to  act  as  his  attorney  In  the  future." 

Marjorie's  astonishment  was  great  as  she  heard 
him  and  saw  the  tightening  of  the  lips  under  the 
grizzled  mustache. 

"Why,  Mr.  Hammond,  you've  been  friends  for 
years!  Have  you — have — you — quarreled?"  she. 
queried. 

"We  haven't  exactly  quarreled,  Mrs.  Benton,  but 
we  can't  agree  on  certain  points,  so " 

But  to  the  mother,  with  thought  now  only  for  the 
son  she  loved,  such  a  contingency  could  only  take  ort 
the  proportions  of  a  catastrophe.  She  knew  the 
reputation  held  by  John  Hammond.  For  years,  since 
he  had  been  her  husband's  attorney  she  had  been 
told  of  his  legal  prowess,  and  had  come  to  believe 
that  anything  he  undertook  of  that  nature  could  mean 
only  triumph  for  his  client.  All  the  hours  since  the 
painful  scene  in  the  library  she  had  hugged  to  her 
breast  the  thought  that  Howard  would  be  defended 
by  this  cleverest  of  lawyers,  and  the  outcome  was  to 
her  a  foregone  conclusion.  She  caught  her  breath 
painfully  as  she  realized  now  that  Howard  might, 
through  some  nonsenical  quarrel  of  his  father's,  be 
denied  the  lawyer's  protection.  She  caught  at  his 
sleeve  with  an  appealing  gesture. 

"Oh — Mr.  Hammond,"  she  cried,  her  lips  trem- 
bling, "you  can't  desert  us  now !  What  will  Howard 
do?  Your  cleverness,  your  knowledge  means  so 
much  to  my  boy!" 

"There,  there,  Mrs.  Benton!     Sit  down  and  calm 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       231 

yourself!"  He  pulled  a  chair  forward  and  forced 
her  into  it.  Then,  still  standing,  he  went  on: 
"When  I  came  here  this  morning  to  see  your  hus- 
band, I  hadn't  an  idea  of  this  estrangement  between 
you — my  business  concerned  Howard.  I  only 
learned  of  the  other  affair  a  short  while  ago.  It  was 
over  that  Mr.  Benton  and  I  could  not  agree." 

"I  must  confess  that  you  have  aroused  my  curi- 
osity, Mr.  Hammond.  I've  always  been  under  the 
impression  that  a  lawyer  obeyed  his  clients'  instruc- 
tions in  a  case  like  this,"  she  smiled  wanly,  "without 
questioning." 

"Some  lawyers,"  he  amended,  as  he,  too,  smiled. 
"No,  Mrs.  Benton,  I  disapprove  of  the  step  your 
husband  is  about  to  take.  His  dismissal  and  my 
resignation  were  delivered  at  the  same  time.  So 
now,  I  have  sent  for  you  to  offer  my  services  in 
Howard's  behalf  as  well  as  your  own." 

"Then  Hugh  has  evidently  told  you  about 
Howard's  defense  of  me?"  Marjorie  was  eager 
and  her  eyes  sparkled  with  enthusiasm.  "Oh,  he  was 
so  wonderful,  Mr.  Hammond,  and  I'm  so  grateful 
to  you  for  standing  by  him !  That  is  all  you — anyone 
— can  do  for  me.  You  know  I  have  consented  to 
give  Hugh  his  freedom?" 

"You  don't  have  to  do  it,  Mrs.  Benton,"  he  an- 
swered sternly. 

"I  am  to  receive  a  great  deal  of  money  from  Hugh 
in  payment  of  my  kind  consideration  of  him,"  she 
informed  bitterly. 

Hammond  went  over  to  Marjorie  and  bowed  low 
before  her.  "You're  a  big  woman,  Mrs.  Benton," 
he  paid  homage,  "and  there  are  very  few  like  you 
in  these  days.  I  understand  your  motive  thoroughly, 
but — "  and  he  looked  at  her  sharply.  "Mrs.  Benton 
• — you  don't  believe  in  divorce " 

She  waved  away  the  matter  with  resignation  as 


232       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

her  nervous  hands  pulled  to  pieces  the  rose  she  had 
taken  from  a  floor  vase  near. 

"Nothing  matters  about  me,  Mr.  Hammond," 
was  her  firm  reply.  "It's  only  my  boy  of  whom  I'm 
thinking!  I  must  save  him!" 

Hammond's  jovial  countenance  turned  apopletic  in 
his  sudden  burst  of  rage  as  he  looked  at  the  shrink- 
ing, suffering  mother  and  thought  of  the  man  he  had 
just  left  who  was  responsible  for  so  much  of  her 
sorrow,  so  proudly  borne. 

"What  a  beastly  advantage  to  take  of  mother 
love!"  he  fumed.  "Your  own  husband,  the  father 
of  your  children,  forcing  you  to  relinquish  the  doc- 
trine in  which  you  have  always  believed !  In  a  fit  of 
rage  he  turned  Howard  adrift,  as  it  were,  little 
dreaming  at  the  time  that  you  would  come  forward 
and  accept  his  bribe.  I'm  sorry  to  hurt  you,  Mrs. 
Benton,"  he  apologized  gently,  as  Marjorie  buried 
her  face  in  her  arm  and  shuddered  at  the  word,  "but 
that  is  exactly  what  it  is — his  bribe!  When  you,  in 
your  beautiful  loyalty  and  love  for  your  son,  offered 
him  his  freedom  in  return  for  the  money,  he  con- 
sidered it  'an  act  of  Providence'  providing  him  with 
the  means  to  gratifying  his  desire."  Each  word  was 
cutting  sarcasm  that  should  have  bouyed  Marjorie 
Benton.  But  she  was  passed  caring  for  most  things. 
She  scattered  the  petals  in  a  shower  at  her  feet, 
watching  them  fall  idly. 

"After  all,"  she  sighed  and  shook  her  head  sadly, 
"it  doesn't  make  any  difference.  I  can't  hold  him  if 
he  doesn't  care  for  me." 

"You  may  not  be  able  to  hold  his  love,"  he  replied, 
"but  you  can  prevent  him  from  remarrying  if  you 
wish  to,  as  you  need  never  divorce  him.  That  is 
what  I  am  here  to  tell  you.  I  will  take  Howard's 
case,  I'll  save  him,  too,  and  it  will  never  cost  you 
a  dollar!" 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       233 

"Oh — Mr.  Hammond."  The  tears  sprang  to  her 
jeyes.  "You  are  indeed  a  friend,  and  I'm  at  a  loss 
for  words  in  which  to  express  my  gratitude !  But 
I've  quite  made  up  my  mind  to  let  Hugh  have  his 
freedom." 

"That  is  entirely  up  to  you.  Candidly  speaking, 
I  'don't  think  he's  worth  holding,  but  I  hate  to  see 
you  hurt  so  deeply,"  he  asserted. 

"Don't  you  think  there  can  come  a  time,  when  one 
is  past  being  hurt?"  Her  lips  formed  a  smile,  but 
her  eyes  were  heavy  with  tears.  "There  have  been 
so  many  shocks  the  last  few  weeks,  I  just  can't  seem 
to  feel  at  all — any  more." 

"It  doesn't  surprise  me — it  seems  remarkable  to 
me,  that  you  have  been  able  to  hold  up  at  all. 
Ah — "  he  turned  as  Howard  entered,  "Good 
morning — I  was  just  about  to  send  for  you." 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Hammond,"  Howard's 
heavy  eyes  betrayed  the  lack  of  sleep  and  the  tension. 
"Hope  I  haven't  kept  you  waiting." 

"No,  I  was  just  going  over  a  little  business  with 
your  mother.  We'll  have  to  be  going  downtown 
soon  though.  We're  due  at  the  coroner's  inquest 
at  two  o'clock." 

"Shall  I  come  with  you?"  Marjorie  asked  quickly. 

"No,  indeed,  Mrs.  Benton — not  at  all  necessary," 
Hammond  assured  her.  "Nothing  will  go  wrong. 
You  must  try  to  trust  me  implicitly,  Mrs.  Benton. 
Rest  all  you  can.  We  may  have  a  case  before  us, 
and  then  you  will  require  your  strength,  but  I  assure 
there  is  nothing  to  fear.  We  will  have  to  hurry  a 
bit,  my  boy,"  Hammond  went  on,  in  his  curt,  busi- 
nesslike manner  that  he  had  discarded  with  Marjorie. 
"We  can  talk  in  my  car  on  the  way  to  town.  I'll 
leave  a  message  with  Griggs  for  your  father.  I  want 
him  to  bring  Elinor  down  ahead  of  time,  so  that  I 
can  have  a  few  words  with  her.  Goodby,  Mrs.  Ben- 


234       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

ton,"  and  he  held  both  her  hands  in  a  warm,  firm 
grip,  "keep  up  your  courage,  little  woman!  Every- 
thing's going  to  be  all  right!" 

"I  feel  assured  of  that,  Mr.  Hammond."  She 
smiled  as  brightly  as  possible.  "How  could  it  be 
otherwise — in  your  capable  hands.  When  will  I 
know  anything?" 

"We'll  'phone  you  just  as  soon  as  it's  over.  I'm 
going  to  see  Griggs  a  moment — I'll  meet  you  in  the 
car,  Howard." 

"Goodby,  mother."  Howard  held  his  mother 
tightly  in  his  arms  for  a  moment.  Strange  what 
comfort  he  got  from  those  arms — how  new  that 
comfort  was — that  he  had  never  known  these  years. 
He  kissed  her  mouth  and  the  eyes  which  bravely 
forced  back  the  tears.  "Don't  you  worry,  dear  I" 

Hugh  Benton  and  his  daughter  arrived  at  John 
Hammond's  office  but  a  short  time  after  his  arrival 
there  with  the  financier's  accused  son.  He  had  had 
time  for  only  a  short  talk  with  Howard,  who  only 
repeated  his  story  of  the  night  before,  when  Hugh 
and  Elinor  were  announced. 

"They  might  just  as  well  come  in  now,"  he  told 
Howard.  "There  are  some  questions  I  would  like 
to  ask  you  and  your  sister  together." 

Elinor  Benton,  pale,  and  dramatically  conscious  of 
the  part  she  played  in  her  own  mind  of  being  all 
but  widowed,  entered  the  inner  office  of  the  lawyer 
leaing  heavily  on  the  arm  of  her  father.  John  Ham- 
mond frowned  annoyedly  when  he  saw  she  had 
chosen  to  costume  herself  in  black;  that  she  gave  all 
outward  evidences  of  being  grief  stricken,  and  he 
thought  it  ill  became  her  at  such  a  time.  But  he  was 
not  altogether  surprised.  He  had  known  the  girl 
since  she  was  a  tiny  child,  and  her  character  was  an 
open  book  to  him. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       235 

"Sit  down,"  he  said,  brusquely,  motioning  to  them 
to  be  seated.  "This  will  not  take  very  long." 

Neither  Elinor  nor  Hugh  deigned  to  notice 
Howard,  who  sat  looking  at  them  through  partly 
closed  eyes.  Notwithstanding  the  fact  that  he  was 
under  the  strain  he  was,  he  could  scarcely  suppress 
a  smile  as  he  looked  at  Elinor. 

"Just  like  her,"  he  muttered,  "to  dress  the  part." 

Hammond  drew  a  pad  in  front  of  him  and  clipped 
his  pen  in  the  ink.  "Now  then,  Elinor !"  He  looked 
up. 

The  pale,  small  figure  in  black  met  his  eye  again. 
It  was  too  much  for  him.  He  fairly  exploded: 

"What  in — well — what  in  thunderation  do  you 
mean  by  dressing  like  that?  Do  you  want  to  play 
upon  the  sympathy  of  a  jury  and  ruin  your  brother?" 

"Why,  Mr.  Hammond!"  Elinor's  handkerchief 
went  straight  to  her  eyes.  "How  can  you  talk — to 
me — like  that?  Can't  you  see — I'm  heartbroken?" 

Hugh  had  her  in  his  arms  instantly. 

"There,  darling,  don't  cry,"  he  said  soothingly.  He 
turned  savagely  to  Hammond.  "I  won't  have  you 
talking  to  her  like  that!  She's  suffering  enough — > 
hasn't  she  just  told  you  she's  heartbroken?" 

"Well,  then,  let  her  be  sensibly  heartbroken!" 
Hammond  brought  his  fist  down  upon  the  desk. 
"Can  you  imagine  the  light  it  is  going  to  throw  upon 
the  case  when  this  slip  of  a  girl  appears  upon  the 
scene  in  the  garb  of  an  inconsolable  widow?" 

Elinor  removed  the  handkerchief  from  her  eyes — 
eyes  that  were  hard  behind  the  glistening  of  newly 
shed  tears.  Her  voice  was  steely  as  she  spoke,  the 
toss  of  her  head  defiant. 

"I  care  nothing  whatever  about  Howard!"  she 
said.  "You  may  as  well  understand  that  right  now! 
I  shall  tell  the  truth,  and  nothing  will  induce  me  to 


236       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

alter  my  testimony.  If  things  go  against  him,  he  will 
have  to  suffer  the  consequences — that's  all!" 

"But  that  is  all  I  require  of  you — simply  to  tell  the 
truth.  There  can't  be  anything  damaging  in  your 
testimony?"  The  lawyer  was  evidently  a  bit  worried 
over  Elinor's  peculiar  attitude. 

"That  depends  entirely  upon  how  you  look  at  it," 
she  replied  frigidly.  "All  I  know  is  that  Howard 
quarreled  with  me  at  home  early  in  the  evening, 
when  I  told  him  I  was  going  to  Templeton's " 

"I  didn't  quarrel  with  you,  Elinor,"  Howard  in- 
terrupted. "I  merely  told  you  what  I  thought  of 
Druid,  and  tried  to  persuade  you " 

"I  choose  to  call  it  quarreling,"  she  replied  loftily, 
without  permitting  him  to  finish. 

"Well,  what  if  he  did  quarrel  with  you  when  he 
discovered  that  you  were  associating  with  the  wrong 
kind  of  a  man?"  Hammond  spoke  up.  "That  only 
goes  to  prove  his  brotherly  love " 

"Brotherly  love!  Brotherly  devotion!"  Elinor's 
voice  rose  to  a  shriek.  "I'm  sick  of  the  very  words! 
Everyone  knows  how  we  have  always  disagreed! 
Why  we  were  never  in  each  other's  society  for  ten 
minutes  without  quarreling — even  mother  and  dad 
can  tell  you  that !  And  now  everyone  expects  me  to 
shout  from  the  housetops  and  proclaim  him  my 
valiant  defender!"  She  sneered  and  her  most  ardent 
admirer  would  not  have  called  Elinor  Benton  beau- 
tiful at  that  moment  of  denouncing  her  brother. 
"Well,  I  refuse  to  do  it!"  she  hastened  on,  and  the 
stubbornness  that  had  been  her  birthright  was  clearly 
in  the  ascendant  as  she  spoke.  "He  killed  the  man 
I  loved !  You  can  never  make  me  see  anything 
heroic  in  that!" 

"Very  well,  then,  if  that's  your  attitude,  I  see  nd 
use  in  my  attempting  to  question  you  at  all."  Ham- 
mond laid  down  his  pen.  "I  can  only  trust  to  your 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT        237 

sense  of  justice  in  answering  the  questions  at  the 
inquest.  I  have  but  one  request  to  make,  and  that 
is  that  you  will  not  deliberately  try  to  place  a  false 
conception  upon  everything  you  say?" 

"You  need  never  fear,  Mr.  Hammond,"  she  an- 
swered. "I  shall  be  perfectly  truthful." 

"Benton,  I'd  like  to  speak  with  you  alone  for  a 
moment  before  we  start."  Hammond  turned  bluntly 
to  Hugh.  "Will  you  step  in  here?"  He  opened  the 
door  of  a  smaller  office. 

Hugh  followed  him,  Elinor  and  Howard  remain- 
ing where  they  were,  each  one  busy  with  his  and  her 
own  thoughts.  They  may  as  well  have  been  total 
strangers  for  all  the  notice  they  deigned  to  take  of 
one  another. 

"Hugh,"  Hammond  began,  as  soon  as  they  were 
alone,  "I  know  that  you  and  I  parted  in  anger  a 
short  while  ago,  and  that  I  have  since  offered  my 
services  to  Mrs.  Benton  and  Howard.  But  I  can't 
allow  our  personal  grievances  to  stand  between  right 
and  wrong.  It  is  my  duty  to  warn  you  that  if  you 
don't  use  your  influence  with  Elinor  before  the  in- 
quest, I  am  afraid  her  testimony  is  going  to  do 
Howard  a  great  deal  of  damage." 

"I  have  very  little  influence  over  her,  I'm  sorry  to 
say,"  Hugh  answered  unconcernedly.  "She  is  ter- 
ribly embittered." 

"But  do  you  realize  what  this  means  to  your  son?" 

"I  haven't  any  son." 

Hugh  Benton's  sharp  declaration  showed  plainly 
that  all  the  embitterment  in  the  Benton  family  was 
not  monopolized  by  his  daughter. 

"Why— why — "  Hammond  found  it  difficult  to 
control  himself.  "You  can't  actually  be  mean  enough 
to  want  to  see  the  boy  get  the  worst  of  it?" 
he  blurted. 

"I'll  do  the  best  I  can  with  Elinor,"  carelessly 


238   THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

answered  the  financier.    "I  can't  promise  any  more. 
Hadn't  we  better  go?" 

"By  all  means,  let's  go.  If  we  remain  here 
much  longer,  I'll  not  be  responsible  for  myself!" 
Hammond  banged  the  door  shut  as  they  returned  to 
the  other  room. 

Elinor  Benton  was  one  of  the  last  witnesses  to  be 
examined  at  the  inquest  into  the  death  of  Templeton 
Druid.  She  took  the  stand,  trembling,  nervous,  and 
in  an  apparently  dazed  condition.  She  stumbled  and 
faltered  over  her  answers.  More  than  once  she  had 
to  be  reprimanded  sharply. 

John  Hammond  was  thoroughly  exasperated.  He 
knew  so  well  the  workings  of  the  girl's  mind.  But  he 
saw  that  the  face  of  every  juryman  bore  a  look  of 
pity  as  he  took  in  the  pitiful  little  figure  in  black  with 
the  sad  eyes  and  the  distress  over  the  death  of  the 
man  she  loved  so  evident,  though  as  evidently  torn 
between  that  love  and  the  love  she  felt  for  her  own 
brother,  who  had  been  the  cause  of  the  tragedy. 

True,  Elinor  Benton  was  being  true  to  her 
promise.  She  was  telling  the  truth,  but  as  each  word 
came  from  her  tight  lips  as  though  forced,  telling 
glances  passed  between  the  newspapermen  seated  at 
the  long  table  in  the  center  of  the  room,  scribbling 
for  dear  life.  This  was  a  story  something  like,  those 
glances  said!  Aside  from  Hammond  and  Howard 
himself,  not  one  in  that  packed  court  room  (for  the 
inquest  had  brought  out  an  eager  crowd  of  morbid 
curiosity  seekers  to  dip  into  this  scandal  which 
touched  the  lives  of  those  of  high  estate)  could  even 
guess  at  the  double  meaning  that  was  in  each  word 
that  fell  hesitatingly  from  the  society  beauty's  lips. 

Hammond  realized  that  the  best  he  could  do  for 
Howard  was  to  cut  short  Elinor's  testimony  as 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT        239 

quickly  as  possible.  But  he  was  not  quicker  than 
she.  In  a  moment  she  had  grasped  his  intention. 
She  wavered  for  a  second,  then  both  hands  went 
to  her  face  and  her  head  bowed  forward  as  she  wept 
silently  for  a  moment.  Then  she  looked  up,  and  it 
was  with  stricken  eyes  and  the  bewildering  despair 
of  a  child  who  did  not  understand  that  she  hurled 
the  bomb  that  she  knew  would  bring  both  brother 
and  mother  into  the  dust.  For  a  moment  there  was 
an  awed  silence.  The  furious  scribbling  of  the  news- 
paper men  could  be  heard.  One  of  them  half  stood 
up  as  he  beckoned  to  a  messenger  boy  in  back  of 
him. 

"Here!"  he  whispered  in  a  rasping  voice  that  cut 
the  stillness.  "Shoot  this  along  for  the  extra.  Tell 
the  boss  it's  the  head!" 

From  where  he  stood  facing  the  witness  chair, 
John  Hammond  caught  a  glance  at  the  letters  that 
sprawled  across  the  one  sheet  of  copy  paper. 

SOCIETY  GIRL'S  TESTIMONY  CONVICTS  BROTHER 

Without  another  question,  John  Hammond  sat 
'down.  The  girl  had  beaten  him.  For,  in  that  mo- 
ment of  dueling,  when  the  fate  of  her  brother  had 
trembled  in  the  balance,  Elinor  Benton  had  looked 
up  with  with  those  stricken  eyes,  those  bewildered 
eyes  of  a  child  who  did  not  understand,  and  her 
arms  had  gone  out  toward  her  father  pleadingly 
as  she  wailed;  half  choked: 

"Oh,  Daddy!  Daddy!  I  can't  say  any  more! 
Please,  please,  don't  let  them  ask  me  any  more!  I 
• — I — don't  want  to  incriminate  Howard !  You 
warned  me  to  be  careful,  but  you  see,  they  are  forc- 
ing me  to  speak!" 

At  the  harsh  command  of  the  coroner,  Hugh 
Benton  was  compelled  to  explain  that  his  only  warn- 


24o       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

ing  to  Elinor  had  been  that  she  be  absolutely 
truthful. 

But  Elinor's  victory  was  complete.  The  jury 
returned  the  verdict  of  manslaughter. 

Elinor  sat  with  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  her 
father's  arm  protectingly  about  her.  Hammond 
jumped  to  his  feet  and  rushed  over  to  her. 

"I  don't  blame  you  for  weeping,  Elinor.  Let  me 
congratulate  you  upon  your  cleverness!" 

"Why  Mr.  Hammond — I  did  the  best  I  could  I 
After  you  and  Daddy  spoke  to  me,  I  thought  it 
over,"  Elinor  looked  up  at  him,  as  innocently  as  a 
child,  "and  I  decided  that  you  were  right.  After 
all,  he  is  my  brother — so  you  heard  me  tell  them  I 
didn't  want  to  speak — they  forced " 

"Please  don't  say  another  word."  Hammond 
made  no  effort  to  conceal  his  contempt.  "You  may 
have  succeeded  in  fooling  a  great  many  people, 
Elinor,  but  you  could  never  deceive  me.  You  knew 
exactly  what  you  were  doing,  and  said  just  the  things 
you  wanted  to  say,  yet  you  made  it  appear  that 
every  word  you  uttered  was  dragged  from  you.  The 
only  regret  I  have  is  that  Howard  ever  felt  it  his 
duty  to  defend  you.  You're  a  clever  woman  of  the 
world,  my  dear,  and  you  could  cope  with  many  a 
woman  of  forty,  despite  your  youth — and  innocence !" 

"Oh,  Daddy!"  Elinor  sobbed  as  she  hid  her  face 
in  his  coat  sleeve.  "Do  you  hear  what  he  is  saying 
to  me?  I — I  don't  deserve  it!" 

"Never  mind,  dear,"  Hugh  soothed  her,  then  he 
turned  to  Hammond  with  flashing  eyes.  "Be  careful 
you  don't  go  too  far,  Hammond!  I've  had  enough 
— so  has  she!" 

Howard  sat  as  if  stunned.  He  uttered  no  word, 
and  he  stared  at  the  floor,  his  eyes  riveted  upon 
some  invisible  object.  Elinor  and  Hugh  passed  him 
on  their  way  out. 


THE  VALLEY  DF  CONTENT        241 

"I'm  sorry  about  this,  Howard,"  Hugh  said, 
trying  to  speak  kindly.  "But  don't  worry — Ham- 
mond will  get  you  out  of  it  all  right." 

Elinor  smiled  as  she  added  her  mite:  "I  did  the 
very  best  I  could  for  you,  Howard." 

He  didn't  attempt  to  answer  either  one  of  them, 
and  was  still  staring  at  nothing,  when  Hammond 
touched  him  on  the  arm. 

"There,  there,  my  boy — you  mustn't  allow  this  to 
discourage  you,"  he  said  cheerfully.  "It  only  means 
that  it  will  take  longer,  and  put  us  to  a  little  more 
trouble,  but  such  evidence  can  never  convict  you." 

"I'm  not  thinking  about  that,  Mr.  Hammond — 
I'm  not  afraid!  I  just  can't  realize  that  my  sister 
has  really  done  this  terrible  thing  to  me.  Why,  she 
didn't  want  to  have  them  dismiss  me!  She  was 
anxious  for  them  to  bring  in  a  charge  against  mel 
Just  think  of  it — my  own  sister!" 

"It  does  seem  terrible,  Howard,  but  she'll  suffer 
for  it  a  great  deal  more  than  you  will.  At  present 
her  mind  is  filled  with  but  one  thought,  and  that  is, 
revenge.  But  it  won't  be  long  before  remorse  will 
step  in." 

"I  can't  understand  her  still  loving  that  fellow 
after  it  has  been  proven  to  her  that  he  was  a  married 
man,"  Howard  said  wonderingly.  "His  intentions 
toward  her  were  not  honorable — and  she  knew  it!" 

"It's  a  strange  thing,  my  boy — but  women  always 
seem  to  love  that  sort  of  a  man — but  it  isn't  really 
love  with  Elinor.  She  was  infatuated  with  him  true 
enough,  and  now  she  imagines  herself  the  heroine 
of  a  tragic  love  affair.  This  posing  in  the  limelight 
isn't  quite  as  distasteful  to  her  as  she  would  have  you 
think." 

"How  was  it,  Mr.  Hammond,"  Howard  ques- 
tioned, "that  you  and  I  saw  through  her  actions  in- 
stantly when  she  was  on  the  stand,  and  yet  dad  be- 


242       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

lieved  her  implicitly,  and  thought  she  was  hysterical 
and  not  accountable  for  what  she  was  saying?" 

Hammond  smiled  knowingly.  "Your  father  be- 
lieved her  because  he  wanted  to  believe  her.  But 
now,  my  boy,  we  must  telephone  your  mother." 

"Poor  mother !  Can  you  imagine  the  shock  this 
will  be  to  her?  She  thought  it  would  all  be  over 
in  a  few  hours,  and  now,  there  may  be  months  of 
anxiety  ahead  of  her." 

"Oh  no,"  Hammond  hastened  to  assure  him,  "it 
will  never  take  that  long.  We'll  have  it  rushed 
through  as  expeditiously  as  possible.  Come,  boy," 
and  the  hand  he  laid  on  the  stricken  youth's  shoulder 
held  all  the  gentleness  and  sympathy  the  father  had 
denied. 

Marjorie  was  pacing  up  and  down  the  living  room 
when  the  summons  came.  She  had  passed  the  never- 
ending  afternoon  she  knew  not  how.  Half  of  the 
time  she  had  spent  upon  her  knees  within  the  sanc- 
tuary of  her  own  room,  praying  as  she  had  not 
prayed  in  years.  The  remainder  of  the  time  she 
had  traveled  throughout  the  house,  covering  an  area 
of  miles,  it  seemed. 

She  reached  the  telephone  white  and  trembling. 
"Yes,"  she  faltered,  her  hands  shaking  so  violently 
she  could  scarcely  hold  the  receiver  to  her  ear. 

"Mrs.  Benton,"  Hammond's  voice  sounded  quite 
cheerful,  "we  were  detained  a  little  longer  than  I 
expected.  I  know  you  have  been  waiting  to  hear 
from  us." 

"Yes — yes — "  came  the  eager  voice,  "I'm  almost 
wild  with  anxiety.  Is — is  everything  all  right?" 

"Why,  yes,  Mrs.  Benton.  Everything's  all  right, 
or  rather,  everything's  going  to  be  all  right.  The 
verdict  was  not  exactly  what  we  looked  for,  but 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       243 

that  doesn't  mean  a  thing  outside  of  a  little  extra 
work  and  inconvenience.  There's  not  the  least 
necessity  for  you  to  worry  at  all."  He  was  doing 
his  best  to  make  as  light  of  it  as  possible. 

"What — what  was  the  verdict?"  she  barely 
breathed. 

It  was  a  second  or  two  before  the  reply  came; 
then  his  voice  seemed  miles  away,  as  he  said  slowly: 
"Manslaughter.  Here,  Mrs.  Benton,  Howard  has 
something  to  say  to  you."  There  was  no  answer. 
"I  say — Mrs.  Benton,  are  you  there?"  He  shook 
the  hook  violently.  All  was  silent  at  the  other  end 
of  the  wire. 

Marjorie  Benton  had  slipped  quietly  to  the  floor, 
a  little  crushed  heap  of  unconsciousness. 

Howard  snatched  the  telephone  away  from  Ham- 
mond. "Hello,  mother,  I'm  all  right.  Why  don't 
you  speak?  I " 

"What's  the  trouble?"  the  operator  cut  in. 
"Didn't  you  get  your  party?" 

"Why,  yes,  I  was  talking  to  her — we  must  have 
been  disconnected." 

"Wait  a  minute." 

"What  is  it,  do  you  suppose?"  Howard  turned 
anxiously  to  Hammond. 

"You  haven't  been  disconnected,"  Central  re- 
turned. "They've  left  the  receiver  off  the  hook  at 
the  other  end,  and  we  can't  get  a  reply." 

"Something's  happened  to  my  mother!"  Howard 
dropped  the  'phone  to  leap  for  the  door.  "The 
shock  may  have  killed  her!" 

"I'll  go  with  you,  Howard."  Hammond  hurried 
him  below  to  the  waiting  car.  "I  don't  believe  it's 
anything  serious.  She  fainted  most  likely.  Poor 
little  woman!" 

All  the  way  home,  although  the  chauffeur  exceeded 


244        THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

the  speed  limit  at  every  opportunity,   the  car,  to 
Howard,  semed  actually  to  crawl. 

Marjorie  Benton  had  been  picked  up  by  Griggs 
and  the  housekeeper,  and  carefully  put  to  bed.  She 
regained  consciousness  in  time  to  prevent  them  from 
sending  for  the  doctor. 

"It's  nothing  at  all,"  she  assured  them.  "I 
wouldn't  think  of  having  Doctor  Morton." 

"But  Mrs.  Benton!"  The  housekeeper  leaned 
over  her  solicitously.  "You're  so  white,  and  it  was 
some  time  before  we  could  bring  you  around." 

"I've  been  under  a  terrific  strain  for  some  time, 
Mrs.  Williams.  This  little  spell  doesn't  mean  a 
thing  otherwise  than  a  sort  of  let-down.  All  I  need 
is  a  couple  of  hours'  rest  to  set  me  right." 

"Very  well,  ma'am,"  Mrs.  Williams  assented. 
"You're  the  best  judge,  I  suppose — although  I  think 
you're  a  lot  sicker  than  you  imagine." 

"Dear,  kind  Mrs.  Williams!"  Marjorie  smiled 
gratefully.  "Just  lower  the  shades  and  I'll  try  to 
relax.  Only  the  very  moment  Mr.  Howard  comes 
in,  send  him  to  me." 

"Yes,  ma'am — just  ring  if  you  should  need  me." 
She  did  as  her  mistress  requested,  and  left  the  room, 
softly  closing  the  door  behind  her. 

Left  to  herself,  the  stricken  woman  buried  her 
head  in  the  pillow  and  gave  free  vent  to  her  grief. 
Her  frail  body  was  shaken  like  a  reed,  as  she  went 
from  one  paroxysm  of  convulsive  sobbing  into  an- 
other. One  word  rang  in  her  ears  like  a  death  knell 
— Manslaughter!  Manslaughter!  She  was  totally 
unaware  of  the  opening  of  the  door,  until  Howard 
knelt  impetuously  beside  her. 

"How  are  you,  mother?"  he  asked  worriedly. 
"Mrs.  Williams  tells  me  you  had  a  severe  fainting 
spell." 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT        245 

in  her  arms,  and  held  him  as  though  she  would  never 
let  him  go  again.  "I'm — I'm  perfectly  well  now!" 
With  all  her  might  she  tried  to  force  a  smile  through 
her  tears.  "But  you,  dear,  are  you  nervous — or 
frightened?" 

"Oh,  my  dear!     My  dear!"     She  gathered  him 

"Why  no,  mother  dear."  (It  sounded  almost  like 
bravado.)  "As  far  as  I'm  concerned,  I'm  as  calm 
as  can  be !  It's  only  about  you  that  I'm  nervous 
and  worried." 

"Well,  you  won't  have  to  be."  She  sat  up  and 
resolutely  brushed  the  tears  from  her  eyes.  "I'll 
show  you  from  now  on,  dear,  that  I  can  be  just  as 
brave  as  you." 

"That's  the  way  to  talk."  He  kissed  her  again. 
"Just  make  up  your  mind  that  there  isn't  anything 
to  worry  about,  and  there  won't  be!  Mr.  Ham- 
mond says:  'there  are  two  kinds  of  people  in  the 
world — the  negatives  and  the  positives — and  the 
positives  always  come  out  on  top !'  ' 

"There's  a  good  deal  of  logic  to  that,  just  as  there 
is  to  everything  Mr.  Hammond  says.  What  a 
splendid  man  he  is !"  She  was  fervent  in  her 
.encomium. 

"Indeed  he  is,  and  that  reminds  me,"  he  said  as 
he  placed  her  gently  back  among  the  pillows,  "he's 
downstairs  now.  He  brought  me  home  when  we 
couldn't  get  a  response  from  you  at  the  telephone. 
I  think  he  was  as  badly  frightened  as  I." 

"You'll  thank  him  for  me,  for  his  kindness,  won't 
you,  dear?  And  ask  him  to  pardon  me  for  not  com- 
ing down?  I  do  feel  the  need  of  a  little  rest — 
unless  it  is  important  for  him  to  see  me." 

"Just  you  rest,  dearest!  There  isn't  a  thing  for 
him  to  see  you  about  now.  I'll  come  back  later  and 
sit  beside  you,  ready  to  tell  you  whatever  you  wish 
to  know." 


246   THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

She  closed  her  eyes  obediently  and  heaved  a  little 
sigh  of  contentment,  as  she  heard  him  hurrying  down 
the  stairs.  It  had  taken  a  dreadful  crisis  to  bring 
her  boy  to  her  arms;  but  the  overwhelming  joy  the 
knowledge  of  possessing  his  love  gave  her,  made  all 
the  suffering  of  years  fade  into  insignificance. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

IN  the  breaking  up  of  the  Benton  home,  there 
were  no  distressing  leave-takings.     The  father 
was  the  first  to  go.     Indeed,  it  cannot  be  said 
that  he  ever  made  The  Castle  his  home  again  after 
the  night  he  spent  there  preceding  the  inquest  into 
the  death  of  Templeton  Druid  and  his  son's  conse- 
quent indictment  on  the  charge  of  manslaughter. 

How  much  of  this  was  due  to  Geraldine  DeLacy's 
influence  it  would  be  hard  to  say.  The  man  himself 
would  have  denied  that  she  in  any  way  held  sway 
over  his  movements,  but  the  subtle  suggestions  she 
was  able  to  throw  out,  always  with  words  of  love 
and  with  the  persuasiveness  of  her  own  logic  that 
Hugh  must  do  things  for  his  own  sake,  were  balm 
to  the  man  whose  selfishness  had  grown  so  great  that 
he  was  unable  to  see  that  there  was  anything  para- 
mount to  his  own  desires. 

So  on  the  day  following  the  tragic  denouement  in 
the  inquest  room,  Hugh  Benton  installed  himself  in 
a  suite  of  rooms  in  one  of  the  city's  most  fashionable 
hotels.  Elinor  was  enthusiastic  when  she  learned 
where  he  had  gone.  It  had  always  been  her  desire 
to  live  in  just  such  a  fashion,  and  she  gleefully  wel- 
comed the  opportunity  of  freedom  it  would  give  her. 
She  knew  that  her  father's  chaperonage  would  at 
no  time  be  irksome. 

"How  wonderful,  Daddy!"  she  exclaimed  as  she 
flew  from  one  wide  window  of  his  sitting  room  to 
another  to  look  out  over  the  towering  roofs  of  the 
humming  city.  "When  may  I  come?  And  where 
are  you  going  to  put  me?" 

247 


248       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

When  her  father  took  her  into  the  adjoining  suite 
he  had  reserved  for  her  and  led  her  into  the  blue 
silk-lined  boudoir  which  was  its  crowning  glory, 
her  happiness  knew  no  bounds.  She  forgot  the 
tragedy  that  hung  over  her  brother  and  mother, 
forgot  everything  save  that  she  was  to  be  a  woman 
of  the  world,  and  live  her  life  to  please  herself  in 
such  surroundings.  Her  father  looked  on  with 
pleased  eyes  as  he  saw  her  rapture. 

"It's  ready  for  you,  baby,  whenever  you  like,  but 
do  you  think  you  should  leave — just  yet?"  He  was 
a  little  dubious  about  the  proprieties.  The  lessons 
of  years  are  not  unlearned  in  hours. 

Elinor  pouted. 

"What's  the  use  of  staying  with  those  others  any 
longer?"  she  asked.  "Why,  Daddy,  you  have  no 
idea  how  disagreeable  it  all  is — how  they  look  at 
me  (if  they  do  at  all) ,  as  though  I  were  the  criminal, 
instead  of " 

Hugh  Benton  turned  on  his  heel.  It  grated  to 
hear  his  son  referred  to  as  a  criminal,  even  from  his 
own  daughter. 

Shut  up  in  her  own  rooms,  the  rooms  where  she 
had  planned  so  many  hours  of  happiness  when  son 
and  daughter  should  be  home,  Marjorie  Benton 
tried  to  shut  her  ears  to  the  bustle  of  preparations 
for  departure.  But  each  thump  of  a  trunk  as  she 
heard  it  carried  from  her  daughter's  room  made  an 
added  bruise  on  her  lacerated  heart — gave  her  a 
sense  of  loss  that  even  all  of  Howard's  loving  pro- 
tection (he  was  the  only  one  who  came  to  break 
her  solitude)  could  not  entirely  heal.  Her  baby  was 
going  away  from  her!  It  was  her  baby  who  had 
chosen  to  do  this  thing! 

On  the  day  that  the  girl's  father  came  for  her  to 
take  her  to  her  new  hotel  home,  she  met  him  outside 
the  door.  She  flew  into  his  arms  with  eagerness. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       249 

But,  with  one  foot  on  the  running  board  of  his  car, 
her  eyes  turned  backward  for  a  moment.  She  looked 
up  at  Hugh  for  guidance. 

"Do  you  think — do  you  think,  Daddy,"  she 
faltered,  confused,  "that  I  ought  to  say  good-by?" 

Hugh  Benton's  thoughts  were  not  on  the  daughter 
he  was  taking  from  home  and  mother.  He  had  no 
time  to  discuss  matters,  nor  to  wait  while  Elinor 
made  up  her  mind.  He  was  to  meet  Geraldine  De- 
Lacy  at  their  favorite  little  cafe  for  lunch  in  an  hour 
(their  regular  daily  meeting)  and  he  was  eager  not 
to  be  late.  He  shrugged  indifferently,  as  he  held 
open  the  door  of  the  limousine. 

"Suit  yourself,  my  dear,"  he  said,  "but  I  can't 
see " 

"Nor  1 1"  Elinor  leaped  lightly  into  the  machine. 
"What's  the  use  of  good-byes?  I've  had  enough  of 
scenes — forever." 

And  she  turned  her  face  resolutely  toward  the 
new  life. 

Geraldine  DeLacy  was  kept  waiting  for  a  short 
time,  but  when  she  saw  Hugh  Benton's  tall  familiar 
figure  coming  toward  her,  her  mood  of  pettishness 
passed  as  though  a  hand  had  wiped  out  the  lines 
from  her  face,  and  it  was  a  smiling  eager  counte- 
nance with  which  she  greeted  him  as  he  bent  over 
her  hand  a  moment  before  taking  the  chair  opposite 
her  in  their  favorite  little  corner  in  the  downtown; 
cafe.  Geraldine  DeLacy  was  a  careful  player.  She 
knew  there  was  yet  much  to  lose  by  a  false  move, 
and  she  prided  herself  that  never  yet  had  anyone 
called  to  her,  "Checkmate !"  There  was  the  Benton 
money,  for  instance.  Something  must  be  devised — 
It  would  never  do  to  have  Marjorie  Benton  come 
out  victor  there,  and  she  knew  quite  well  through 
her  familiarity  with  the  divorce  proceedings  that 
were,  already  under  way  in  less  than  two  weeks  after: 


250 

Hugh  had  gained  Marjorie's  permission  to  start 
them,  that  Hugh  intended  to  live  up  to  the  letter  of 
his  promise  to  his  wife,  given  that  night  he  had 
forced  her  hand. 

So  it  was  with  no  suggestion  either  of  her  discon- 
tent in  this  matter,  nor  of  the  bad  temper  that  had 
spent  itself  over  having  been  kept  waiting  that  the 
young  widow  spoke  softly  to  the  man  who  apolo- 
gized. 

"Of  course,  it  was  long  waiting,  Hugh,  dear,"  she 
pouted  prettily.  "But  it's  always  an  age  if  I  have 
to  wait  for  you  a  moment!  And  to  think  before 
I  knew  you  I  never  thought  I  could  miss  anyone  in 
the  world!" 

"I  knew  you  would  understand,  little  one,"  he 
smiled  tenderly,  "you  always  do!  But  I  was  kept 
unconsionably  late  to-day  for  several  reasons.  First, 
Elinor — I  told  you  I  had  installed  her  at  the  Alliston 
with  me,  did  I  not?"  Geraldine  nodded,  but  as  she 
bent  over  her  plate  of  oysters  picking  at  them  with 
the  tiny  fork,  Hugh  Benton  could  not  see  the  annoy- 
ance in  the  dropped  eyes.  "Then,"  he  went  on, 
"just  as  I  was  ready  to  leave  the  office,  one  of  those 
new  lawyers  of  mine  dropped  in.  I'll  say  I'm  going 
to  have  trouble  making  them  understand  that  they 
must  make  appointments  like  other  people, — Ham- 
mond always  understood  such  things  so  well — and 
they  had  a  lot  of  questions  to  ask  about  that  settle- 
ment of  mine " 

Mrs.  DeLacy  showed  signs  of  quickening  interest, 
but  her  eyes  were  still  upon  her  plate  as  she  thought 
best  how  to  inject  some  of  her  own  ideas  into  the 
man's  reasoning. 

"It's  all  so  maddening,"  Hugh  went  on,  "to  be 
tied  up  in  this  manner  over  money!  Here  all  I 
want  in  the  world  is  you, — and  you  want  me,  I'm 
sure,  little  one,"  Geraldine  lifted  her  eyes  to  flash 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       251 

him  a  dazzling  smile  of  happiness  and  understand- 
ing, "and  they  keep  us — : — " 

Geraldine  DeLacy  laid  down  her  fork  and  leaned 
across  the  table  toward  her  companion,  gazing  at  him 
thoughtfully  and  consideringly,  as  though  there  were 
something  vital  she  wished  to  say,  but  wanted  to  be 
sure  of  her  ground.  Hugh  smiled  tenderly. 

"What's  on  your  mind,  dear?"  he  laughed. 
"Come  on — we're  not  going  to  let  you  be  serious 
as  that  without  an  explanation." 

"I  was  just  thinking " 

"With  any  other  woman,  I'd  say,  'Be  careful!'' 
he  assured  her,  with  a  benignant  grin.    Hugh  Benton 
still  believed  in  the  vast  superiority  of  the  masculine. 
But  Geraldine  did  not  answer  his  smile.     It  must  be 
something  serious  she  was  considering. 

"If  I  were  to  be  very  frank  with  you,  Hugh,"  she 
began  hesitatingly,  and  her  eyes  held  only  a  look 
of  adoration,  and  something  that  seemed  to  tell  his 
vanity  that  she  feared  to  displease  him  by  anything 
she  might  say,  "would  you  consider  me  presuming 
or  guilty  of  an  unpardonable  interference  in  your 
affairs?" 

"My  dear,  how  little  you  know  me!  You  know 
I  am  always  glad  to  listen  to  anything  you  may  have 
to  say." 

"Well,  then,"  she  was  most  cautious,  still  hesitat- 
ing, "does  Marjorie  know  exactly  how  much  you 
are  worth?  Have  you  always  taken  her  into  your 
confidence  regarding  your  financial  standing?  Please 
do  not  think  my  asking  these  questions  strange — you 
will  soon  see,  dear,  that  I  have  only  your  interest 
at  heart." 

"Why,  no,"  he  answered,  but  puzzled  at  this  new 
interest  of  the  woman  who  had  always  so  carefully 
refrained  from  the  mention  of  money,  "Marjorie 
Doesn't  know  anything  about  my  affairs." 


25  2       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

The  semi-lighting  effects  of  the  cafe  and  her  large, 
drooping  hat,  prevented  him  from  seeing  the  tri- 
umphant gleam  in  the  woman's  eyes. 

"When  we  first  came  to  New  York,"  he  explained, 
"we  used  to  discuss  all  the  transactions  of  the  office, 
but  that  was  only  for  a  very  short  time.  For  years 
she  has  not  shown  the  slightest  interest  in  me  or  my 
doings.  I  have  paid  all  the  bills  and  given  her  a 
liberal  allowance,  nearly  all  of  which  she  invested 
in  charity." 

"How  about  Mr.  Hammond?  Does  he  happen 
to  know  just  what  you  are  worth?" 

"My  dear,  I  see  that  you  know  very  little  about 
business,"  he  replied  laughingly,  "or  else  you  would 
understand  that  when  one  speculates  as  I  do,  no  one 
knows — not  even  myself — just  what  I  am  worth." 
"You're  right — I  know  nothing  whatever  about 
business,"  she  pouted  childishly.     "I'm  only  trying, 
in  my  poor  little  way,  to  prevent  you  from  doing 
yourself  a  great  injustice." 
"An  injustice?" 

"Yes!  Oh  my  dear!  You're  so  wonderful — so 
generous — that  you  never  even  stop  to  consider  your- 
self for  a  moment!  No,  you  mustn't  interrupt  me," 
as  she  leaned  across  the  table,  and  gave  him  a  gentle 
pat  on  the  hand.  "You've  been  an  ideal  husband 
and  father  all  these  years.  It  isn't  your  fault  if  you 
have  been  misunderstood  by  your  wife,  and  unap- 
preciated by  your  son.  Then  why  should  you,  at 
your  time  of  life,  beggar  yourself  so  that  your  money 
may  be  recklessly  squandered  by  an  irresponsible 
boy?" 

"But  I'm  not  making  a  settlement  upon  Howard. 

It's  Marjorie  I'm " 

"Hugh!  You're  as  gullible  as  a  child!"  she 
smiled.  "Don't  you  know  she  will  give  every  dollar 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT        253 

she  possesses  to  Howard,  especially  after  you  dis- 
inherited him  because  he  sided  with  her. 

"I  never  thought  of  that,"  he  acknowledged  com- 
prehendingly.  "You're  absolutely  right.  It  is  pre- 
cisely what  she  would  do." 

"Just  how  much  did  you  promise  to — give  her?" 
she  asked  eagerly. 

"I  told  her  I  would  give  her  three-quarters  of  my 
possessions  if  she  would  consent  to  grant  me  my 
freedom." 

"You — you — "  She  dug  her  finger-nails  deep  into 
her  palm.  Rage  flamed  inwardly  in  spite  of  her 
efforts  at  self-control  and  her  soft-spoken  words — 
"liberal,  big-hearted  darling!  That  is  just  what  I 
would  have  expected  you  to  do — without  once  giving 
yourself  a  thought!" 

"I  would  have  given  anything  to  be  free — for 
you,  darling — and  I  could  afford  to  be  generous.  I 
feel  more  capable  than  ever  of  making  many  a  for- 
tune," he  replied,  with  great  confidence. 

"I  haven't  the  least  doubt  of  your  capabilities, 
dear.  Only  you  happened  to  remark  but  an  hour  ago 
that  this  was  one  of  the  most  precarious  years  fren- 
zied finance  has  ever  known.  Therefore,  I  think," 
she  pleaded  wistfully,  "you  should  exercise  your 
better  judgment." 

"What  is  it  you  would  advise  me  doing?  Have 
you  a  suggestion  to  offer?" 

"Y-e-es,  I  think  so,"  she  hesitated,  as  though  not 
sure  of  herself.  "Of  course,  I  know  very  little  about 
business,  as  you  know,  but  to  me  it  seems  a  good 
one."  She  leaned  forward  animatedly.  "As  long 
as  Marjorie  is  entirely  ignorant  of  just  how  much 
you  are  actually  worth,  why  don't  you  give  her  a 
great  deal  less,  and  allow  her  to  think  she  is  getting 
— exactly  what  you  promised  her?" 


254       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

"Why — why — "  he  stammered,  "wouldn't  that  be 
dishonest?" 

"Not  at  all!"  she  replied  emphatically.  "Merely 
diplomatic." 

"Somehow,  it  doesn't  seem  fair — my  conscience, 
— why  dear,  what  is  the  trouble?"  he  inquired  anx- 
iously, as  Geraldine  without  warning  placed  her 
handkerchief  to  her  eyes  and  began  weeping  silently. 

"You — you  don't  know  how  you  hurt  me,  Hugh  1 
Why — why — you  as  much  as  imply  that  I  was  sug- 
gesting to  you  an  act  of  dishonesty,  when  the  only 
thing  that  entered  my  mind  was  your  welfare.  As 
far  as  I  am  concerned,  I  told  you  once  before,  dear 
— that  I'd  marry  you  if  you  were  a  pauper." 

"Forgive  me,  dearest,  and  dry  your  eyes,  I  im- 
plore you.  How  can  you  imagine,  for  a  moment, 
that  I  would  intentionally  offend  you?" 

"I'm  such  a  baby,"  she  replied,  drying  her  eyes 
obediently,  "and  my  great  love  for  you  would  carry 
me  beyond  all  sense  of  reasoning.  Of  course,  if  you 
think  there  is  anything  wrong  about  my  suggestion, 
why  then " 

"I'm  not  trying  to  say  there  is  anything  wrong 
about  it — only — I  have  always  been  open  and  above 
board  in  all  my  dealings, — "  he  toyed  nervously 
with  his  own  fork, — "I  should  feel  rather  uncom- 
fortable about  doing  anything  underhanded." 

But  the  plotter  could  see  her  victim  was  weaken- 
ing. She  hastened  to  make  the  most  of  it. 

"Why,  my  dear,  you  couldn't  even  harbor  a  dis- 
honest thought!  I  can't  help  wondering  just  a  little 
how  you,  who  are  always  so  very  considerate  of 
others,  have  apparently  forgotten  all  about  Elinor." 

"Elinor?    What  has  she  to  do  with  it?" 

"A  great  deal,  I  think,"  she  replied.  "You  know, 
Elinor  volunteered  of  her  own  free  will  to  remain 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT        255 

with  you,  therefore  it  does  not  seem  fair  to  give  so 
much  to  Marjorie  and  Howard,  while  Elinor  will 
be  compelled  to  depend  solely  upon  your  further 
success  for  her  share.  It  is  true  that  you  have  al- 
ways been  most  fortunate — but  my  dear,  we  can 
never  tell  just  when  the  tide  may  turn." 

"And  what  about  you?"  He  looked  at  her  ad- 
miringly. "You  wonderful  woman!  All  of  your 
pleadings  have  been  for  me  and  for  Elinor — never 
once  have  you  mentioned  yourself  as  deserving  of  a 
little  consideration!" 

"There  isn't  a  thing  in  the  world  that  I  need  or 
want  outside  of  your  love,"  she  answered  sweetly. 

"That  you  shall  always  have,"  he  said  fervently 
as  he  reached  across  the  table  and  his  big  white 
hand  crushed  her  small  one  tenderly.  "And  a  great 
many  things  besides.  You  have  made  me  view  mat- 
ters in  an  entirely  different  light.  I  shall  act  ac- 
cordingly." 

So  it  was  that  when  a  few  days  later  his  lawyer 
handed  Marjorie  his  check  after  the  signing  of  the 
necessary  documents,  the  divorced  wife  found  it  dif- 
ficult to  suppress  her  genuine  surprise. 

"Is  there  anything  wrong,  Mrs.  Benton?"  the 
lawyer  inquired,  noticing  her  peculiar  expression. 

"Well — I — I  am  a  little  surprised — at  the 
amount!"  She  glanced  at  the  paper  in  her  hand 
again.  "I  have  always  been  under  the  impression 
that  Mr.  Benton  was  a  very  wealthy  man." 

"There  was  never  a  certain  sum  stipulated,  was 
there?" 

"Why,  no — Mr.  Benton  agreed  to  give  me  three- 
quarters  of  all  he  possessed,  but  if  this  amount  is  in 
accordance  with  that  promise — then  he  is  worth  a 
great  deal  less  than  I  ever  imagined." 

"You  know  that  Mr,  Benton  speculates  in  vast 


256       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

sums  daily;  his  fortune  is  bound  to  fluctuate. 
Would  you  care  to  send  a  message  to  him?"  he 
asked,  as  he  reached  for  his  hat. 

"No,  thank  you.  This  is  perfectly — satisfactory," 
she  replied. 

But  with  the  memory  of  that  check  in  mind,  and 
of  the  need  of  vast  sums  for  the  defense  of  her  son 
in  mind,  Marjorie  Benton,  in  making  her  own  de- 
parture from  The  Castle,  did  not  follow  her  hus- 
band's example  and  install  herself  and  her  son  in  a 
fashionable,  expensive  hotel.  Instead,  she  chose  a 
much  smaller  one  further  uptown — a  hostelry  where 
exclusiveness  superseded  the  pomp  of  the  hotel  home 
which  housed  her  former  husband  and  her  daughter. 

Marjorie  could  see  that  Howard  was  somewhat 
questioning  at  the  move  she  made,  though  he  said 
nothing.  She  was  in  a  quandary.  She  would  have 
liked  to  explain  to  Howard  that  she  was  not  being 
penurious,  not  following  the  conservative  bent  which 
had  so  long  been  the  cause  of  so  much  trouble  in 
the  Benton  family,  but  she  could  not.  She  could  not 
explain  to  him.  He  had  lost  all  respect  for  his 
father  as  it  was,  and  she  felt  she  could  not  be  the 
one  to  plant  the  seed  of  hatred  in  his  heart. 

Howard,  on  the  other  hand,  had  been  deeply  hurt 
when  his  mother  had  neglected  to  mention  to  him 
just  what  was  the  sum  of  the  settlement  upon  her. 
The  confidence  she  failed  to  place  in  him  gave  him 
the  impression  of  not  being  trusted.  But  his  pride 
would  not  permit  him  to  question  her;  he  feared 
she  might  misconstrue  his  motive,  and  consider  his 
interest  a  selfish  one. 

Through  all  her  travail  Marjorie  Benton  had  had 
one  other  consolation  save  her  son.  John  Hammond 
had  proven  himself  the  friend  he  had  offered  to  be 
on  the  morning  he  had  told  her  he  was  no  longer  her 
husband's,  but  her  own  and  her  son's  representative. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       257 

Each  day  during  the  progress  of  the  suit,  he  had 
called  her  up  or  seen  her,  and  his  gentle  courtesy 
had  done  much  to  lighten  her  burden.  Now  he  was 
busy  with  Howard's  affairs,  and  because  of  the 
lawyer's  deep  interest  and  enthusiasm,  the  mother 
had  laid  aside  much  of  her  worry  for  Howard,  be- 
lieving that  it  was  an  assured  thing  that  John  Ham- 
mond would  acquit  him, 

In  a  way,  she  was  beginning  to  be  more  cheerful, 
to  look  at  the  future  as  not  all  dark,  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  her  resources  were  far  from  what  she  had 
believed  they  would  be.  However,  she  argued,  if 
she  and  Howard  lived  as  carefully  as  possible,  they 
need  never  want  until  her  son  should  himself  be  in 
a  position  to  add  to  their  income, — a  prospect  that 
was  a  surety  with  Marjorie  since  Howard  had  been 
speaking  so  earnestly  about  it.  He  had  only  to 
place  himself — to  find  himself — and  surely  she  and 
the  boy  themselves  had  enough  influential  friends  to 
see  that  he  got  a  start. 

Hammond  had  called  her  up  one  morning  to 
assure  her  that  her  son's  affairs  were  progressing 
rapidly,  and  to  say  that  the  case  had  been  given  a 
place  on  the  calendar  which  would  be  reached  in  a 
week  or  two.  She  was  so  glad  that  it  would  soon 
be  over. 

All  (during  her  luncheon,  which  she  ate  alone — 
Howard  had  telephoned  he  would  be  detained  in  the 
city — she  thought  of  the  approaching  trial,  and  her 
heart  warmed  as  she  pictured  the  great  lawyer  de- 
fending her  son.  What  a  man  he  was!  What  a 
friend  he  had  proven!  And,  what  was  as  much  to 
Marjorie  Benton  in  her  straitened  circumstances, 
how  much  it  meant  to  both  Howard  and  herself  that 
John  Hammond  persisted  in  his  purpose  to  handle 
the  matter  without  fees. 

She  looked  up  from  the  boolc  she  had  been  idly 


258       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

scanning  at  her  solitary  meal  to  see  her  son  stand- 
ing in  the  door.  So  white  and  strained  he  was,  so 
actually  ill  he  seemed  that  the  mother's  hand  went 
to  her  throat  to  ease  the  choking  lump  that  rose. 
What  could  have  happened  now? 

"Howard!"  she  cried  chokingly.  "What  is  it, 
dear?  What  is  wrong?" 

Without  a  word,  he  crossed  to  his  mother's  chair 
and  laid  before  her  the  paper  he  held.  The  black 
type  stared  up  at  her,  and  for  a  moment,  she  could 
not  take  it  irk 

PROMINENT  LAWYER  KILLED  IN  STREET 

AS  AUTOS  COLLIDE 

JOHN   HAMMOND,    FORMER  SENATOR 
DIES   INSTANTLY 

Tears  that  had  not  come  for  so  long  to  the  eyes 
of  Marjorie  Benton,  who  had  believed  they  had  dried 
forever,  gathered  under  the  hot  lids.  She  could  not 
read  further.  She  looked  up  at  her  son,  standing 
there  with  his  hopeless  expression,  and  her  arms 
went  out  to  him  as  she  hid  her  face  on  his  rough 
coat. 

"Oh,  my  dear!  My  dear!"  she  cried  heart-rend- 
ingly,  "it  can't  be  true!  We've  lost  our  best 
friend!" 

Howard  was  tender  as  he  stroked  her  head. 
But  the  stricken  expression  went  from  his  eyes.  He 
straightened  himself,  then  leaned  over  his  mother 
and  lifted  her  head  to  look  directly  at  her. 

_"No,  mother,"  he  said  gently.  "We've  lost  a 
friend — a  wonderful  friend — but  not  our  best  friend 
while  you  or  I  live  I" 

The  papers  were  all  loud  in  their  praise  of  the 
prominent  man.  They  spoke  of  him  in  terms  of 
profound  respect  and  admiration.  He  had  won  a 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       259 

great  name  and  enviable  reputation  for  himself,  by 
his  many  acts  of  benevolence  and  absolute  integrity 
in  all  his  dealings.  There  were  many  he  had  be- 
friended who  mourned  him  sincerely. 

But  there  were  none  who  felt  his  loss  as  keenly 
as  Marjorie  and  Howard  Benton.  They  knew  they 
had  lost  a  friend  who  could  not  be  replaced. 

With  the  tragedy  occurring  so  near  the  beginning 
of  Howard's  trial,  the  days  were  busy  ones  that 
followed.  New  counsel  had  to  be  procured,  and 
when,  through  friends,  Monroe  Garden,  a  celebrated 
trial  lawyer,  had  been  called  into  the  case,  they 
found  that  the  work  of  weeks  had  to  be  gone  over. 
With  a  sinking  heart,  too,  Marjorie  Benton  found 
that  it  would  strain  her  resources  if  the  matter 
should  be  long  delayed. 

And  delayed  it  was.  Mr.  Garden's  ideas  were 
different  from  Hammond's.  The  latter  had  been 
ail  for  rushing  the  matter  through.  He  fought  for 
delay  upon  delay,  explaining  to  his  impatient  clients 
that  it  was  the  best  thing  to  do. 

Perhaps  he  was  right.  For  after  several  months 
of  anxiety  and  nerve-racking  suspense,  Howard  was 
acquitted ! 

The  strain  upon  Marjorie  had  been  frightful—- 
both upon  her  mentality  and  her  bank  account. 
There  had  been  one  expense  after  the  other,  and  as 
she  already  knew,  the  lawyer's  fee  was  exorbitant. 
She  was  so  overjoyed  at  the  verdict,  though,  that 
she  paid  him  gladly,  and  it  was  not  until  it  was  all 
over,  that  she  realized  to  the  full  extent  how  terribly 
her  funds  had  been  depleted. 

But  it  was  with  a  heart  full  of  thankfulness,  a 
deep  sigh  of  relief  that  she  had  her  son — that  he 
stood  free  and  cleared  of  intent  of  crime  before  the 
world — that  Marjorie  Benton  turned  to  take  up  the 
slackened  thread  of  her  life.  There  was  so  much 


i"6o       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

to  hope  for.  'And  surely  all  that  could  possibly 
happen  had  happened,  and  there  must  now  be  some 
peace  and  happiness  awaiting  her. 

It  was  with  a  ruder  shock  than  any  that  had  pre- 
ceded that  the  mother  was  awakened  from  her  new 
dream.  Ever  since  his  acquittal  Howard  had  seemed 
listless,  not  entirely  himself.  She  had  put  this  down 
to  the  strain,  however,  knowing  well  how  it  had  af- 
fected her,  too.  Howard  would  soon  be  himself, 
and  they  would  have  a  wonderful  life  together. 

She  was  preparing  to  leave  her  room  for  the 
dining  room  in  the  hotel  one  morning — (she  always 
breakfasted  early  with  him  these  days)  when  word 
was  brought  her  that  her  son  was  ill.  She  rushed 
into  his  room  to  find  that  the  boy  had  collapsed  as 
he  tried  to  leave  his  bed.  The  physician  who  was 
hastily  summoned  advised  an  immediate  removal, 
and  before  an  hour  had  passed,  Howard  Benton 
was  in  a  small  room  in  a  sanitarium,  tossing  in  the 
feverish  delirium  of  typhoid.  The  weeks  he  laid 
there  passed  into  months;  one  complication  on  an- 
other set  in,  for  his  constitution  was  in  a  badly  run- 
down condition,  owing  to  the  months  of  anxiety  he 
had  been  obliged  to  endure  during  his  trial. 

There  was  something  martyrlike  in  the  way  Mar- 
jorie  managed  to  bear  up  under  her  heavy  cross. 
She  grew  haggard  and  pale  as  she  hovered  near  the 
bedside  of  her  boy  day  and  night.  It  was  only  when 
the  doctor  threatened  to  bar  her  from  the  room  en- 
tirely, that  she  consented  to  go  home  for  a  few 
hours'  rest  at  night.  But  even  then  she  didn't  rest. 
She  either  paced  the  floor  in  her  anguish  and  despair, 
or  she  knelt  beside  her  bed  praying  to  God  not  to 
take  her  beloved  boy  from  her  now — now  that  she 
had  just  found  him. 

And  God  in  His  great  mercy,  heard  her  prayers, 
for  Howard  began  slowly  to  fight  his  way  back 


again  to  health  and  strength.  It  was  then,  in  these 
days  of  convalescence  that  the  wonderful  devotion 
between  mother  and  son  became  noticeable  to  every- 
one connected  with  the  sanitarium. 

Outside  of  going  to  her  room  for  a  few  hours  at 
night,  she  never  left  him  for  a  minute.  She  read 
to  him  by  the  hour,  played  all  sorts  of  games  with 
him,  such  as  a  small  boy  might  have  enjoyed,  and 
when  he  was  able  to  be  taken  out  a  bit,  she  wheeled 
him  up  and  down  the  corridor,  or  out  into  the  garden 
without  ever  tiring. 

On  his  part,  he  was  never  happy  unless  she  was 
beside  him.  He  wouldn't  go  to  sleep  at  night  with- 
out holding  her  hands,  and  in  the  morning,  if  she 
was  delayed  ten  minutes  in  arriving,  he  would  insist 
upon  the  nurse  telephoning  to  find  out  whether  any- 
thing had  happened. 

It  was  beautiful — this  great  love — to  all  who  wit- 
nessed it.  Especially  was  it  so  to  Marjorie  herself. 
She  fairly  reveled  in  it.  Her  soul,  love-starved  for 
so  many  years,  reached  out  passionately  for  this  new- 
found joy. 

In  Howard's  presence  she  was  always  smiling  and 
cheerful.  Never  for  a  moment  did  she  permit  him 
to  think  that  there  was  anything  wrong.  No  matter 
how  hard  she  would  be  obliged  to  struggle,  she 
would  never  reveal  to  him  the  true  state  of  their 
affairs  until  he  had  completely  recovered. 

It  was  amazing  to  her  the  way  her  money  seemed 
to  diminish  as  if  by  magic.  There  wasn't  anyone  she 
could  appeal  to.  Hugh  and  Elinor  had  left  for 
Paris  a  few  days  after  the  trial  ended,  and  even  if 
Hugh  had  not  gone,  she  would  have  died  before  ap- 
pealing to  him.  He  had  treated  her  shamefully  all 
through  the  trial,  coming  into  court  day  after  day, 
without  once  speaking  to  her,  or  even  noticing  her. 
Of  course,  she  never  guessed  that  he  was  really 


262        THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

ashamed  to  look  at  her.  Conscience  is  a  difficult 
tormentor  at  times. 

The  day  before  they  sailed,  Elinor  called  her  on 
the  'phone. 

"We're  leaving  for  Europe  to-morrow,  mother," 
she  announced.  "May  I  come  out  to  see  you  before 
we  go?" 

"I  really  can't  see  why  you  should  wish  to  see  me, 
Elinor,"  she  answered  as  coolly  as  her  daughter  had 
spoken,  but  her  heart  was  beating  madly. 

"Well,  I'm  going  a  long  ways  from  here,  and 
somehow — I  should  like  you — to  wish  me  luck." 
There  was  a  little  sob  in  her  voice. 

"I  do  wish  you  the  best  luck  in  the  world — al- 
ways," Marjorie  replied  heartily;  "only  I  don't  feel 
as  if  I  could  stand  seeing  you  just  yet." 

"I'm  sorry,  mother.    Good-by." 

Marjorie  heard  the  receiver  click  at  the  other  end 
of  the  line. 

Elinor  and  Hugh  had  passed  out  of  her  life. 

When  she  discovered  her  funds  dwindling  away 
to  almost  nothing,  she  endeavored  to  economize  in 
every  possible  way.  She  gave  up  their  rooms  in  the 
hotel  where  Howard  had  fallen  ill,  and  moved  into 
a  back-room  in  a  private  dwelling  close  to  the  sani- 
tarium, explaining  to  Howard  that  she  had  made  the 
change  in  order  to  be  nearer  him. 

One  morning,  she  entered  Howard's  room,  ex- 
pecting to  find  him  sitting  up  in  bed  finishing  his 
breakfast  as  usual.  To  her  great  surprise,  he  rushed 
toward  her  and  grabbed  her  in  his  arms.  He  was 
dressed  for  the  street,  while  his  suitcase  stood  in  the 
corner,  packed  and  strapped. 

"Hello,  dearest!"  he  cried,  kissing  her  fondly, 
"what  do  you  think  of  your  boy  now?" 

"Why,    darling — what    does    this    mean?"      She 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       263 

struggled  out  of  his  embrace  and  looked  about  her 
in  surprise. 

"It  means  that  I'm  perfectly  well,  mother — and 
able  to  go  home  with  you  now."  He  kissed  her 
again.  "I  knew  all  about  it  yesterday,  but  I  begged 
Doctor  Simpson  and  Miss  Sanders  not  to  tell  you. 
I  wanted  the  pleasure  of  surprising  you  myself.  Are 
you  happy,  dear?" 

"Happy  to  see  you  well  and  able  to  leave  here? 
Why,  darling,  you  know  how  happy  I  am,  only — 
only — "  she  stammered  helplessly,  "I — I  wish  you 
had  told  me  yesterday." 

"But  why,  mother?  I  can't  see  why  it  was  neces- 
sary to  tell  you  in  advance?  All  you  have  to  do  is 
to  call  a  taxi  and  take  me  home." 

"Well — you  see,  dear — "  she  hesitated  slightly, 
"I  wanted  to  know  a  day  or  two  in  advance  so  that 
I  could  look  for  a  small  apartment,  or  else  engage 
another  room — in  the  house — where  I  am  now 
living." 

"Another  room?  Why,  dearest,  'do  you  mean  to 
say  that  you  have  only  one  room?" 

"Why  yes — you  see " 

"I  can't  understand  it!  Surely  you  knew  I  wasn't 
going  to  remain  here  forever!  You  should  have 
remained  in  your  comfortable  room  at  the  hotel. 
You  could  have  easily  taken  a  taxi  back  and  forth 
from  here." 

"Well  I— I—"  The  tears  she  had  held  back  in 
his  presence  for  those  long  months  suddenly  gushed 
forth.  She  had  reached  the  end  of  her  strength. 
Sobs  shook  her. 

"Dearest,  what  is  it?  Sit  here  ami  tell  me 
all  about  it."  Howar'd  placed  her  tenderly  in  the 
rocker,  and  'drew  a  chair  for  himself  close  beside 
her. 


264       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

"No — no — It's  nothing  at  all."  She  tried  hard  to 
check  her  tears  as  she  protested,  but  unavailingly. 
"I'll  tell  you  as  soon  as  you're  well  and  strong,  but 
now " 

"I'm  well  and  strong  now!  Why  Doctor  Simp- 
son says  I'm  in  a  better  physical  condition  than  I've 
ever  been  since  I  was  a  boy.  I  insist  upon  your  tell- 
ing me  just  exactly  what  it  is  that  is  troubling  you, 
mother,"  he  said  firmly. 

"Very  well,  dear."  She  realized  it  was  useless  to 
refuse. 

So  she  told  him  everything, — just  what  amount  of 
money  Hugh  had  given  her  and  exactly  how  much  of 
it  had  been  spent. 

"Oh,  mother,  dear,  if  you  had  only  mentioned  it 
to  me  at  the  time,"  he  reproached  her  gently.  "You 
can't  imagine  how  hurt  I  was  because  you  failed  to 
tell  me.  I  thought  it  was  because  you  didn't  trust 
me  enough." 

"No,  no,  it  wasn't  that,"  she  hastened  to  assure 
him.  "I  didn't  wish  you  to  feel  more  embittered 
toward  your  father." 

"I'd  have  gone  to  him  at  the  time  and  told  him 
plainly  just  what  I  thought  of  him!"  he  exclaimed 
indignantly.  "He  cheated  you,  mother — that's  what 
he  did — and  all  because  of  that  miserable  creature!" 

"Hush,  dear,  you're  only  exciting  yourself  need- 
lessly," she  cautioned  him,  "and  it  won't  do  a  bit  of 
good.  The  thing  is  this — just  what  are  we  going  to 
do?" 

"We  are  not  going  to  rdo  anything,  clearest."  He 
put  his  arms  tenderly  about  her.  I'm  going  to  do 
it  all.  I'm  going  to  work,  anH  take  care  of  you  the 
rest  of  your  life!" 


CHAPTER  XIX 

HUGH  BENTON  had  lost  no  time  (nor  ha'd 
the  widow  allowed  him,  for  that  matter) 
after  obtaining  his  divorce  decree,  in  marry- 
ing Geraldine  DeLacy.  Some  of  their  intimates, 
many  of  the  more  conservative  element  of  the  so- 
ciety in  which  they  moved,  believed  that  the  marriage 
had  occurred  indecently  soon  after  Marjorie  had 
been  put  aside.  But  in  general  society  let  them  alone 
to  go  their  own  way.  Shoulders  were  raised  elo- 
quently in  a  few  quarters,  in  others  the  names  of 
Hugh  Benton  and  the  former  Mrs.  DeLacy  were 
quietly  erased  from  invitation  lists,  but  the  scandal 
was  (as  is  so  often  the  case  among  the  busy  four 
or  five  thousand  who  were  once  four  hundred)  not 
long  in  giving  place  to  something  more  recent.  So- 
ciety was  beginning  to  yawn  when  the  name  of  Ben- 
ton  was  mentioned. 

The  financier,  happy  in  the  possession  of  the 
woman  with  whom  he  was  so  deeply  infatuated;  his 
new  wife,  elated  at  the  good  fortune  she  had  so 
triumphantly  maneuvered,  apparently  cared  not  a 
whit  for  what  society  might  say.  Knowing  most  of 
them  as  she  did,  Geraldine  DeLacy  Benton  smiled 
knowingly  into  her  dressing  table  mirror,  as  she  told 
herself  that  all  would  come  in  good  time.  With 
Hugh  Benton's  money  at  her  command,  she  was 
more  than  willing  to  wait  her  time  to  take  the 
social  leadership  she  felt  so  confidently  would  be  hers 
before  long. 

Only  Elinor  was  dissatisfied.  The  freedom  she 
had  been  so  happy  over  having  had  not  brought 

265 


266       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

her  the  joy  she  had  expected  It  to.  Even  before 
leaving  for  Europe  with  her  father  and  newly  ac- 
quired step-mother,  she  had  fglt  the  sting  of  disap- 
proval, and  it  had  only  made  her  more  misanthropic 
than  she  was  already  speedily  becoming.  She  could 
not  help  noticing  that  many  of  her  own  friends  were 
avoiding  her.  Invitations  were  noticeably  scarce.  But 
it  was  some  time  before  she  took  notice  of  this,  since, 
in  her  new  freedom,  she  had  taken  to  visiting  the 
more  public  tea  and  dance  rooms  in  company  with  her 
various  admirers,  all  of  whom  seemed  to  flock  around 
her  more  than  ever,  in  contradistinction  to  the  cool- 
ing ardor  for  her  friendship  of  their  sisters  and 
mothers.  It  was  not  until  she  met  Rosebud  Greely 
in  the  Plaza  one  afternoon  that  the  truth  of  the  mat- 
ter was  brought  home  to  her,  though.  Elinor  touched 
the  girl  on  the  arm  as  Rosebud  passed  through  the 
aisle  on  her  way  to  a  table  on  the  other  side  of  the 
room,  where  her  mother  and  some  friends  were  sit- 
ting. 

"Hello,  Rosebud!"  she  greeted.  "I've  been  wait- 
ing and  waiting  for  you  to  come  and  see  my  new 
quarters.  Come  down  to  the  hotel  and  have  tea  with 
me  to-morrow,  won't  you?" 

Rosebud  Greeley,  usually  so  open,  so  ready  for 
anything,  was  noticeably  uncomfortable.  She  cast  a 
furtive  glance  across  the  room  toward  her  mother. 

*  'Fraid  I  can't,  Elinor,"  she  said  nervously.  "The 
mater — you  know " 

Elinor  lifted  surprised  eyebrows. 

"Why,  what  can  she  have  against  me?"  was  her 
hurt  query. 

Rosebud  shook  her  head  and  turned  to  hurry 
along.  But  the  hurt  look  in  Elinor's  eyes  touched  the 
girl's  tender  heart,  and  she  gently  brushed  Elinor 
Benton's  arm.  "Don't  you  worry,  old  dear,"  she 
advised,  "It'll  all  blow  over — it's  so  silly  anyhow — 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       267 

but  you  must  know  what  everyone  is  saying  because 
you're  flying  around  unchaperoned,  and  you  know  my 
mater.  Just  the  same,  I  wish  I  could  do  what  you're 
doing  for  a  while!"  She  took  Elinor  in  enviously 
and  nodded  her  head  toward  the  table  the  Benton 
heiress  had  left  where  a  blase  youth  was  sitting  wait- 
ing for  her.  "Try  to  see  you  some  more,  some  time. 

Elinor  could  hardly  realize  it.  So  they  were  saying 
things  about  her,  were  they?  Well,  she'd  show  them ! 
Her  father 

She  could  hardly  get  out  of  the  place  quickly 
:enough  to  tell  him.  With  head  held  haughtily  high, 
she  left  the  tea  room,  looking  neither  to  right  nor 
left  at  the  many  she  knew  who  were  seeing  her.  But 
her  cheeks  flamed  hotly  as  instinct  told  her  she  was 
the  subject  of  conversation  at  more  than  one  table 
that  she  swept  by. 

Hugh  Benton  was  sympathetic  and  gentle  as  he 
had  been  since  Elinor  had  chosen  to  go  with  him. 
But  he  did  not  take  the  matter  as  seriously  as  she 
had  thought  he  should.  There  were  matters  on  his 
own  mind  clamoring  for  attention.  One  of  these  was 
that  he  had  not  told  his  daughter  of  his  intended 
marriage  to  Geraldine  DeLacy — for  the  incident  of 
the  Plaza  tea  had  occurred  before  Elinor  had  any 
idea  her  father  contemplated  re-marriage.  Elinor 
had  known,  of  course,  of  his  infatuation  for  the 
widow,  and  that  she  had  been  the  cause  of  the  dif- 
ferences between  her  father  and  mother.  Equally, 
of  course,  she  had  heard  much  of  the  gossip  con- 
cerning the  two.  But,  loving  her  father  as  she  did, 
knowing  him  as  she  believed  she  did,  it  had  not  en- 
tered her  head  that  Hugh  Benton  would  really  marry 
Mrs.  DeLacy.  And  this  Hugh  Benton  knew. 

He  seized  on  his  daughter's  humiliating  experience 
for  an  entering  wedge  for  his  confession. 


268       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

"Poor  little  girl,"  he  sympathized.  "So  she's  see- 
ing that  her  old  dad  isn't  accepted  as  a  proper 
chaperon,  is  she?  I  was  afraid  of  as  much — but 
never  mind,  dear,"  and  he  pulled  her  to  him  and 
seated  her  on  his  knee.  "We'll  fix  all  that !  There 
really  ought  to  be  an  older  woman  to  look  after 
you- " 

Elinor  squirmed  about  to  face  him. 

"Why,  Daddy!"  she  exclaimed.  "Whatever  do 
you  mean — "  Then  as  her  eyes  searched  his  face, 
and  she  saw  the  half  shamed,  half  triumphant  look 
there,  the  truth  slowly  dawned  on  her.  She  drew 
back  as  if  stung.  She  was  surprised,  angry  by 
turns.  She  caught  his  two  arms  and  shook  him 
furiously. 

"Oh,  Daddy!  Daddy!"  she  cried.  "Surely,  you 
don't  mean  to  say  that  you  really  intend  to  marry 
Geraldine  DeLacy?" 

"Surely,  I  speak  plainly  enough,  Elinor,"  he  an- 
swered irritably. 

"But  Daddy — she  doesn't  love  you!  She'll  never 
make  you  happy!" 

"Please  permit  me  to  be  the  judge  of  that."  He 
was  very  stern  as  he  lifted  her  from  his  knees  and 
set  her  on  her  feet.  "What  right  have  you  to  say 
anything  about  it?" 

"The  right  of  one  who  really  loves  you,  dear." 
She  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck  in  spite  of  his 
move  to  turn  away.  "One  who  wants  you  to  be  happy. 
Besides,  you're  all  I  have  in  the  world.  I — I  can't 
bear  to  lose  you." 

"You'll  not  lose  me,  baby!"  Once  more  he  was 
all  gentleness.  "I'll  be  just  as  close  to  you  as  ever. 
Only  you  do  need  a  woman's  hand,  you  know,  and 
Geraldine  loves  you  so  devotedly.  She'll  be  just  like 
a  sister  to  you." 

"I'm  glad,  Daddy,"  Elinor  smiled  almost  sadly, 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT        269 

"that  you  didn't  say  she'd  be  like — a  mother — to  me. 
Oh,  well,  I  suppose  you've  quite  made  up  your  mind, 
so  nothing  I  could  say  would  influence  you?" 

"As  you  say,  I've  quite  made  up  my  mind.  I'm 
not  a  child;  and  I  never  allow  anyone  to  influence 
me." 

But  if  Elinor  Benton  liked  the  idea  of  her  father's 
marriage  so  little  at  the  time  he  told  her  of  it,  she 
liked  it  still  less  as  the  days  grew  into  weeks.  On  the 
day  of  the  wedding,  she  knew  that  the  emotion  that 
she  held  toward  Geraldine  was  hatred;  and  it  in- 
creased day  by  day  with  the  closer  relationship.  At 
first,  it  was  prompted  by  self-pity.  She  could  not 
overlook  the  fact  that  Geraldine  had  appropriated 
her  place  in  her  father's  heart;  but,  before  long,  she 
began  to  realize  just  how  little  her  father  really 
meant  to  this  vain,  selfish  creature,  who  had  forced 
herself — yes,  she  had  always  been  certain  of  that — 
into  her  mother's  place.  Her  mother!  The  woman 
she  had  held  in  contempt  and  ridicule  because  of  her 
old-fashioned  ideas.  Why,  it  seemed  almost  like 
sacrilege  to  even  think  of  her  in  the  presence  of  this 
woman ! 

She  was  positively  astounded  at  her  father's 
actions.  He  was  an  enigmatical  problem,  impossible 
of  solution.  He  permitted  himself  to  be  dragged 
about  like  a  toy  poodle.  If  he  passed  his  opinion 
about  anything  or  anyone,  and  it  failed  to  coincide 
with  Geraldine's — well,  he  changed  it,  that  was  all! 
And  in  an  apologetical  and  almost  cringing  manner 
that  fairly  nauseated  Elinor. 

What  had  happened  to  this  big,  powerful,  hand- 
some man,  of  whom  she  had  once  been  so  proud? 
There  were  times  when  she  pitied  him.  There  was 
something  pathetic  in  his  anxiety  to  please  this  para- 
site, who  with  a  smile,  or  a  few  words  of  endear- 
ment, could  send  him  to  the  seventh  heaven  of 


270       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

delight,  or  with  a  frown  cast  him  into  the  very  depths 
of  despair. 

But  if  Elinor  Benton  was  astonished  at  the  change 
that  came  over  her  father  in  less  than  a  year, 
she  would  have  been  more  astonished  could  she  have 
realized  the  change  that  had  occurred  in  herself. 
She  would  not  have  known  herself — nor  would  any 
of  her  former  friends  have  known  her — for  the  gay, 
careless,  laughter-loving,  joyous  creature  who  had 
played  the  butterfly  for  those  few  months  after  her 
debut. 

She  was  at  outs  with  the  world.  It  seemed  that 
everyone  plotted  against  her.  Constant  brooding 
over  her  "wrongs"  soon  changed  the  butterfly  into  a 
cynical  woman  of  the  world.  Her  brother  had 
"wronged"  her  terribly  by  killing  the  man  she  loved, 
or  rather,  thought  she  loved,  for  now  as  she  looked 
back  upon  it  all,  she  realized  that  what  she  had  felt 
for  Templeton  Druid  had  not  been  love  at  all,  but 
merely  a  schoolgirl's  infatuation.  Her  mother  had 
"wronged"  her  by  refusing  ever  to  see  her,  and 
simply  shutting  her  out  of  her  heart  and  life;  and 
now  her  father — her  Daddy,  whom  she  had  idolized 
had  "wronged"  her  by  marrying  this  clever,  design- 
ing woman.  Geraldine  DeLacy  had  been  a  most 
desirable  chaperon  for  her — while  she  remained 
Mrs.  DeLacy,  but  as  her  father's  wife — That  was 
an  entirely  different  matter. 

So  she  consoled  herself  as  best  she  could  with 
violent  flirtations  with  the  foreign  gallants  with  which 
Paris  swarmed.  Neither  her  father  nor  Geraldine 
appeared  either  to  know  or  care  what  she  was  doing. 
But  somehow,  the  sweetness  of  her  freedom  had 
palled,  and  there  came  times  that  she  wished  for  a 
restraining  hand.  There  were  more  times  when  she 
more  bitterly  wished  herself  away  from  her  father 
and  his  new  wife  than  she  had  fiver,  back  there  in 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       271 

the  security  of  her  own  boudoir  in  her  sheltered  home 
in  "The  Castle,"  wished  herself  away  from  it. 

One  thing  she  made  up  her  mind  to,  though,  and 
that  was  that  never  would  she  return  with  them  to 
her  former  home.  This  was  the  bitterest  pill  of  all. 
They  were  going  back,  her  father  told  her.  It  was 
Geraldine's  wish.  Their  year  in  Paris  was  almost 
over  when  he  told  them  at  breakfast  one  morning 
that  he  had  cabled  Griggs  to  re-open  the  place. 

He  would  have  preferred  disposing  of  it  and 
purchasing  a  new  place;  but  Geraldine  had  firmly 
made  up  her  mind — a  long  time  ago — that  one  day 
she  should  be  mistress  of  "The  Castle";  therefore 
she  insisted  upon  re-opening  it,  declaring  that  she 
would  redecorate  it  anew,  just  as  soon  as  they  were 
settled. 

But  though  things  had  gradually  been  shaping 
themselves  for  a  general  cataclysm  for  months,  it 
was  not  until  just  before  their  preparations  for  sail- 
ing were  completed  that  a  crisis  came.  Only  Hugh 
Benton  had  been  placidly  unaware  of  anything 
wrong.  He  believed  he  held  the  world.  He  did 
not  know,  could  not  seem  to  realize,  that  he  was 
like  a  child,  or  a  weakling  in  the  hands  of  his  wife. 
She  ruled  his  every  act,  his  every  thought.  Like  an 
avalanche,  she  swept  everything  before  her  in  the 
one  mad  desire  to  satisfy  her  unappeasable  greed. 
But  her  native  subtlety  had  aided  her  to  hide  this 
from  Hugh  Benton,  if  not  from  his  daughter.  He 
went  about  like  a  man  in  a  dream.  He  imagined 
himself  to  be  the  happiest  of  men.  He  had  a  young 
and  beautiful  wife,  who  loved  him  devotedly.  What 
more  could  he  ask?  He  put  the  past  from  him  like 
a  bad  dream,  and  lived  only  in  the  present.  And 
then  suddenly — the  awakening! 

He  had  been  for  a  long  walk  with  Geraldine  in 
the  afternoon.  He  had  fairly  reveled  in  her  gayety, 


272       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

her  bubbling  wit,  the  fact  that  she  was  his  own,  and 
that  every  man  they  passed  paused  to  give  the 
dazzling  dark-eyed  beauty  an  admiring  glance.  He 
had  made  a  note  of  her  admiration  of  a  string  of 
pearls  they  saw  at  a  famous  jeweler's  where  they 
had  stopped  to  get  a  ring  she  had  left  for  re-setting. 
Then  she  had  gone  home  before  him,  as  even  in 
Paris,  the  calls  of  his  vast  business  across  the  water 
took  more  of  his  time  than  he  would  like  to  have 
taken  from  his  wife's  side. 

When  he  hurried  into  the  luxurious  sitting  room 
of  the  suite  they  were  occupying,  he  found  Elinor 
there  alone.  She  was  already  dressed,  and  stood 
looking  out  of  the  window  in  a  bored  fashion.  She 
did  not  even  turn  as  she  greeted  her  father,  hasten- 
ing to  add: 

"Hello,  dad.  You'll  have  to  hustle  and  dress 
for  dinner.  You  know  we're  going  to  the  opera 
to-night."  She  couldn't  have  shown  less  enthusiasm 
had  she  announced  that  it  was  time  to  retire. 

"It  will  only  take  me  a  few  minutes,"  he  said. 
"Where's  Geraldine?" 

Elinor  shrugged  her  shoulders  indifferently. 
"I'm  sure  I  don't  know.  Dressing,  I  suppose." 

Geraldine  swept  into  the  room,  magnificently 
gowned  in  a  striking  costume  of  cloth  of  silver. 

"You're  very  late,  Hugh,"  she  said  peevishly. 
"Where  have  you  been  all  afternoon?" 

"Now,  darling.  You  mustn't  be  cross — I  had 
something  to  do.  My!  How  beautiful  you  are!" 
He  attempted  to  caress  her. 

"Please,  Hugh,"  she  held  him  off,  "I  wish  you 
wouldn't  paw  all  over  me!  Nanette  simply  couldn't 
arrange  my  hair  to  suit  me  to-night !  I  had  to  do  it 
myself  and  it  was  exasperatingly  stubborn!" 

"It  looks  wonderful,  darling." 

"No,  it  doesn't!"     She  walked  to  the  mantel  and 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       273 

stared  into  the  mirror.  "It  looks  a  fright,  but  I 
can't  help  it,  and  I  did  want  to  look  particularly 
nice  to-night." 

"Why  to-night?"  Hugh  asked  curiously.  "To 
me  you  always  look  particularly  nice,"  he  added 
gallantly. 

"There  are  some  people  here  from  New  York," 
Geraldine  answered  his  question  without  paying  the 
slightest  heed  to  his  compliment — "people  who  had 
the  impertinence  deliberately  to  cut  me — before  we 
were  married.  I  am  looking  forward  to  the  pleasure 
of  retaliating.  I  think  the  women  will  feel  it  a  great 
deal  more,  if  I  am  looking  my  best." 

"What  a  disgusting  parvenu !"  was  Elinor's 
thought  as  she  still  stared  into  the  lighted  streets. 

"What  a  child  you  are,"  Hugh  laughed  indul- 
gently. "Well,  I  have  something  here,"  and  he 
pulled  a  long  box  from  his  pocket,  "that  may  help 
you  a  little.  This  is  what  delayed  me." 

He  held  the  long  string  of  perfectly  matched, 
lustrous  pearls  before  her. 

"Oh,  you  darling!"  she  exclaimed,  as  she  threw 
her  arms  about  him,  hair  forgotten.  "You  are  too 
good  to  me !  Here,  put  them  on  me !" 

She  stood  still  while  he  clasped  the  pearls  and 
kissed  her  neck. 

"Aren't  they  wonderful?"  She  fingered  them 
caressingly,  and  then  rushed  to  the  mirror  again. 
"Elinor!"  she  turned  suddenly.  "What  do  you 
think  of  them?"  I 

"I  think  they  are  very  beautiful,'^  the  girl  answered 
simply,  as  she  turned  slowly  to  take  in  the  scene. 

Hugh  walked  over  and  placed  his  arm  lovingly 
about  his  daughter.  "I've  ordered  a  string  as  near 
like  them  as  possible  for  you,  baby.  They  promised 
to  have  them  for  me  in  a  few  days." 


274       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

"Oh — no,  Daddy — you  shouldn't  have  done  that. 
I  really  don't  care  for  them,  for  myself." 

"Nonsense!  Of  course  you  do!  Besides,  I  want 
my  two  treasures  to  always  share  alike,"  he  beamed 
joyously,  glancing  across  at  Geraldine. 

She  stood  in  the  center  of  the  room,  two  bright 
red  spots  burning  in  each  cheek,  as  she  tugged  fran- 
tically at  the  clasp  at  the  back  of  her  neck. 

"Why,  darling,  what  is  the  matter?"  He 
hastened  to  her. 

"Take  these  things  off !"  Geraldine  screamed. 
"I  won't  have  them!  If  you  can't  buy  me  a  thing 
without  immediately  ordering  a  duplicate  of  it  for 
her,"  she  pointed  her  finger  dramatically  at  Elinor, 
''then  I  don't  want  you  to  give  me  anything!" 

"Why,  Geraldine — "  Elinor  stepped  forward 
anxiously.  She  could  scarcely  control  her  voice. 
"You  just  heard  me  tell  Daddy  I  didn't  want  them. 
Please  keep  yours  on  and  don't  make  a  scene.  I 
assure  you,  even  if  Daddy  gets  them  for  me,  I'll 
not  accept  them." 

"Stop  playing  the  self-sacrificing  little  angel  with 
me!"  She  turned  on  Elinor  fiercely.  "I  know  per- 
fectly well  how  you  hate  me,  and  you  know  how  I 
feel  about  you.  I'm  sick  and  tired  of  keeping  up 
this  pretense  any  longer!" 

"But — my  dear."  Hugh  was  even  whiter  than 
Elinor.  "I — I  thought  that  you  loved  Elinor  de- 
votedly, and  that  you  two  would  be  just  like  sisters. 
You're — you're  nervous  and  upset  to-night.  You 
don't  know  what  you're  saying " 

"Please!  Don't  make  excuses  for  me,  Hugh," 
Geraldine  interrupted  savagely.  "I  don't  love  her! 
I  never  have  loved  her,  and  I  never  will  love  her! 
And  you  might  as  well  know  it  right  now!" 

"You  gave  me  to  understand  one  night  in  New 
York  that  you  had  only  Elinor's  interest  at  heart — 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT        275 

when  you  persuaded  me  to  do — something — I  didn't 
think  was  quite  fair.  Do  you  remember  it, 
Geraldine?"  Hugh  set  his  lips  in  their  old  grim 
line,  as  memory  flashed  back  the  picture. 

Geraldine  tossed  aside  her  necklace.  A  look  of 
pure  contempt,  all  but  hatred,  distorted  her  features 
as  she  looked  at  her  husband  slowly.  Then  her  lip 
curled  and  she  laughed. 

"For  a  clever  and  brilliant  business  man,  you're 
the  biggest  fool  I've  ever  met  in  all  my  life!"  she 
flung  at  him.  She  rushed  into  her  own  room  and 
banged  the  door  after  her. 

For  a  moment  Hugh  stood  and  stared  at  the 
closed  door,  too  astonished  to  move.  When  the 
realization  of  the  miserable  scene  he  had  just  passed 
through,  finally  dawned  upon  his  numbed  conscious- 
ness, he  sank  heavily  down  upon  the  nearest  chair 
and  groaned  aloud. 

Elinor  was  on  her  knees  beside  him  instantly. 
"Oh,  Daddy,"  she  murmured  soothingly,  "Daddy — 
dear." 

He  buried  his  head  in  his  hands.  "Oh — my 
God!"  His  body  shook  convulsively.  "I  can't  be- 
lieve it!  I  can't  believe  it!" 

The  sound  of  his  daughter's  heart-broken  sobs 
roused  him  from  his  own  misery.  Her  head  was 
buried  on  his  knee,  her  whole  figure  a  picture  of 
abject  misery.  He  bent  over  and  touched  her 
tumbled  hair,  idly  tried  to  arrange  the  torn  lace  of 
her  bodice. 

"There!  There,  "dear!"  he  begged,  but  his  tone 
was  one  of  hopelessness  as  he  tried  to  give  the  sym- 
pathy he  was  himself  so  much  in  need  of.  "Don't 
cry,  sweetheart — it'll  all  be  all  right!" 

Elinor  lifted  a  tear-stained  face  to  her  father's. 
She  shook  her  head.  Then  the  sobbing  burst  out 
afresh. 


276       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

"Oh,  Daddy!  Daddy!"  she  wailed,  "I — want — 
my — mother!" 

Hugh  Benton  was  wrong  in  believing  that  matters 
would  right  themselves  when  Geraldine's  nerves 
should  be  soothed.  He  was  to  learn  that  she  had 
but  dropped  the  mask  that  had  irked  her  through 
all  the  year  that  she  had  been  making  for  herself 
the  place  that  she  was  determined  to  have — bring- 
ing Hugh  Benton  to  an  abject  posture  beneath  her 
feet.  For  the  scene  she  had  made  about  the  string 
of  pearls  had  been  but  the  woman's  opening  gun  in 
her  new  campaign.  It  was  the  first  of  her  quarrels 
with  her  husband,  but  others  followed  in  such  rapid 
succession  that  the  first  was  not  long  in  being  lost 
sight  of. 

Elinor  left  them  the  week  following  her  'denuncia- 
tion by  her  stepmother.  She  met  some  friends  who 
invited  her  to  spend  the  winter  in  Italy.  She  was 
delighted  at  the  chance  to  escape  from  her  unhappy 
surroundings,  and  Hugh  was  glad  to  let  her  go. 
He  had  come  to  know  the  impossibility  of  keeping 
her  under  the  same  roof  with  Geraldine. 

Alone  with  his  new  wife,  there  began  a  life  so 
terrible  for  Hugh  Benton,  that  at  times  he  was  al- 
most certain  it  could  not  be  true.  He  was  merely 
having  a  dreadful  nightmare  from  which  he  would 
suddenly  awaken. 

Geraldine  seemed  fairly  to  thrive  upon  quarrels 
and  violent  scenes.  At  first,  Hugh  attempted  to 
plead  or  remonstrate,  or  argue  with  her;  but  he  soon 
found  that  that  was  the  thing  she  craved,  so  he 
simply  lapsed  into  silence  until  the  tirade  was  over. 
But  oh!  how  it  told  on  him!  How  it  crushed  the 
manhood  within  him  and  made  of  him  a  thing  he 
himself  despised! 

On  their  return  to  New  York  Geraldine  had 
redecorated  "The  Castle,"  but  he  never  entered  it 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       277 

without  seeing  before  him  a  vision  of  Marjorie,  as 
she  stood  in  the  library  that  never-to-be-forgotten 
night,  completely  rejuvenated  and  beautiful,  trying 
to  rekindle  his  love  and  pleading  with  him  to  give 
up  his  engagement  and  take  her  to  the  theater. 

Surely  that  was  the  night  on  which  God  had  for- 
saken him,  or  he  would  have  listened  to  her  plead- 
ings, and  have  been  spared  all  this  torture. 

Hugh  Benton  knew  he  was  nearing  the  end  of  the 
road.  His  associates  recognized  the  change  in  the 
man,  but  there  was  little  sympathy  such  as  might 
have  been  expected  for  a  man,  old  and  broken  before 
his  time,  from  any  other  cause  than  the  one  which 
had  aged  and  grayed  the  financier.  For  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  he  bowed  his  head,  content  to  take 
the  lashings  of  Fate  because  of  sheer  inability  longer 
to  fight.  He  had  been  vanquished  by  a  woman — 
a  woman  for  whose  sake  he  had  driven  wife  and 
children  from  him,  had  outlawed  his  friends,  cut 
short  his  life. 

As  he  drooped  into  his  office  one  morning,  he  felt 
that  the  end  could  not  be  far  off.  And  he  welcomed 
it.  One  more  blow  from  the  hand  of  Fate 

He  started  to  look  over  the  opened  letters  his 
secretary  had  left  in  front  of  him.  There  was 
one,  a  personal  letter,  unopened.  He  recognized 
Elinor's  handwriting.  What  would  he  give  for  one 
sight  of  her!  A  thought  came  to  him.  Why  not 
cut  it — go  back  to  Europe  with  Elinor,  let  Geraldine 
do  as  she  pleased.  The  very  thought  cheered  him. 
It  was  worthy  of  more  than  passing  consideration. 
Eagerly  he  opened  the  letter.  But  the  eagerness 
turned  to  pain  as  he  read;  the  white  face  turned 
ashen.  The  letter  dropped  with  the  hand  to  his 
knee,  and  he  sat  staring  at  it  as  though  the  writing 
stared  out  at  him  in  letters  of  fire. 

"Dear  Daddy:"    Elinor  had  written: 

I  know  that  you  are  expecting  me  home  soon,  but  this  is 


278       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

to  tell  you  that  I  am  not  coming  back — ever.  What  I  have 
to  tell  you  will  certainly  surprise  you,  perhaps  shock  you  (or 
are  you  past  the  time  of  shocks  and  surprises?)  I  have  been 
married  a  month  to  Signer  Guglielmo  Bellini,  a  young  bari- 
tone in  the  opera  here,  of  whom  you  have  perhaps  never 
heard,  but  who  is  well  known  and  thought  of  here.  Do  I 
love  him?  I  am  not  sure — any  more  than  I  am  sure  there 

is  any  such  thing  as  love.    But  he  is  kind  and He  is  not 

exactly  what  you  might  call  of  our  kind,  but  I  am  through 
with  our  kind — forever — and  he  can  give  me  all  that  I  now 
crave;  constant  change  and  forgetfulness. 

So  it's  good-by,  Daddy,  and  don't  forget  your  baby.  I 
shall  never  forget  you.  You  have  always  been  so  kind  to  me 
and  have  given  me  everything,  except — my  mother. 

So,  if  in  the  future  you  don't  hear  from  me  often,  just 
remember  that  I  am  fluttering  about  the  world,  for  that  is 
how  I  shall  find  peace. 

Your  loving  daughter, 

ELINOR. 

The  letter  fluttered  from  the  man's  nerveless 
fingers  to  the  floor.  His  head  drooped  forward  until 
it  rested  on  the  edge  of  his  great  mahogany  desk, 
the  sharp  edge  of  the  glass  pressing  into  his  fore- 
head unheeded.  His  whole  body  shook  with  sobs. 

"  'That  is  how  I  shall  find  peace !'  "  he  quoted. 
"Oh,  Marjorie!  Marjorie!"  he  groaned  aloud,  "if 
you  could  see  me  now,  you  could  find  it  in  your  great 
heart  to  forgive  me!" 

Wearily  he  lifted  his  head  and  his  hand  searched 
out  a  desk  button.  The  clerk  who  answered  was 
told  to  send  Bryson,  the  manager.  When  the  man 
stood  deferentially  before  the  financier,  Benton  asked 
him  hurriedly: 

"Bryson,  I  wonder  if  you  will  be  able  to  take 
complete  charge  here,  while  I  go  to  California?" 

"To  California?  Shall  you  be  gone  long,  Mr. 
Benton?" 

"I  can't  tell  exactly — probably  all  summer." 

"It  would  be  quite  a  responsibility  for  me,"  Bry- 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       279 

son  answered  uneasily.  "You  know  what  a  peculiar 
state  the  market  is  in,  Mr.  Benton." 

"But  you've  been  with  me  so  many  years,  Bryson," 
Hugh  argued.  "You  know  my  methods.  I  have 
every  confidence  in  your  judgment." 

"Thank  you,  sir,  I  appreciate  your  faith  in  me," 
Bryson  acknowledged  gratefully.  "When  do  you 
intend  starting?" 

"The  day  after  to-morrow." 

"Why,  Mr.  Benton!  That's  impossible!  You 
have  that  gigantic  deal  on  hand  with  Randall,  Small 
&  Company!  It  might  be  disastrous  for  you  to 
leave  before  it  is  completed." 

Hugh  shook  his  head  stubbornly.  "Come  back 
in  an  hour,  and  we'll  talk  this  thing  over  again,"  he 
ordered. 

But  on  the  man's  return  at  the  end  of  the  hour, 
he  found  Hugh  Benton's  private  office  empty.  A 
note  on  the  desk  informed  him  that  Mr.  Benton  had 

?one.  He  was  leaving  for  Chicago  at  once,  and 
rom  there  to  San  Francisco.  He  left  everything  in 
Bryson's  hands,  and  he  would  write  him  particulars 
as  soon  as  he  arrived. 

"Strangest  thing  I  ever  heard  of,"  Bryson  mut- 
tered, reading  the  note  again.  "Chances  are,  he'll 
think  better  of  it  and  hurry  right  back." 

In  her  boudoir  in  "The  Castle,"  Geraldine  De- 
Lacy  Benton  stopped  in  her  preparations  for  a  gay 
party  to  scan  the  telegram  her  maid  handed  her. 

"Hmmph!"  was  her  comment,  as  she  dipped 
•deeply  into  her  gold  powder  box.  "California,  eh? 
Rather  sudden — wonder  how  long  he'll  stay? 
Well,"  and  she  held  out  her  slender  foot  for  the 
velvet  slipper  the  long-suffering  maid  held,  "he 
needn't  hurry  back  on  my  account!" 

The  only  one  who  knew  he  never  intended  to 
come  back  at  all  was — Hugh  Benton! 


CHAPTER  XX 

IT  is  one  thing  to  announce  a  heroic  determination 
to  become  the  family  bread  winner.  It  is  quite 
another  to  put  that  determination  to  practical 
account,  as  Howard  Benton  was  to  learn  in  the  days 
that  followed  his  sojourn  at  the  sanitarium  and  since 
learning  that  his  mother's  resources  were  almost 
gone. 

Particularly  when  one's  talents  run  only  to  run- 
ning a  sporty  little  racer  and  a  thorough  knowledge 
of  all  the  most  recent  dance  steps  and  a  canny  way 
of  learning  just  where  to  find  the  best  bootleggers — 
a  talent  which  the  young  man  put  into  the  limbo  of 
forgotten  things  as  his  first  step  in  his  new  life. 

Both  he  and  his  mother  felt  he  could  put  his 
knowledge  of  automobiles  to  practical  account.  But 
when  he  applied  for  one  position  after  another  with 
automobile  firms,  he  was  laughed  at  for  his  pains. 
Not  even  he  had  realized  exactly  how  little  he  did 
know  about  machines.  Too  long  had  he  left  the 
disagreeable  part  to  mechanics. 

His  belief  in  friends  (at  first)  had  led  him  into 
the  offices  of  those  he  had  known  in  palmier  days. 
But  it  was  with  stung  pride  that  he  abandoned  this 
after  a  few  efforts.  They  had  all  seemed  kind 
enough — patronizing  even — but  always  it  was  the 
same  thing  he  had  heard  in  Thurston's  bond  office: 

"Nothing  now,  my  boy — but  if  you  don't  get 
settled,  you  might  call  again  some  time." 

But  Howard  Benton  never  called  again.  Instead, 
he  took  to  spending  his  evenings  with  his  mother, 

280 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       281 

going  over  advertisements,  writing  answers  to  which, 
because  of  his  lack  of  experience,  there  were  few  re- 
plies. How  terribly  had  he  wasted  the  years  at 
college — years  that  could  not  now  help  him  earn  a 
living ! 

It  was  when  it  actually  became  a  question  of  food 
that  he  determined  to  take  whatever  might  be 
offered.  Months  had  passed,  and  he  had  kept  his 
promise  to  his  mother,  but  they  had  gone  through 
hardships  together,  and  there  were  times  when  the 
price  of  a  meal  had  been  difficult  to  earn. 

In  the  end,  his  earnestness  won  him  a  position  in 
the  office  of  a  large  manufacturing  concern.  The 
salary  was  not  large,  but  to  Marjorie,  and  to  her 
son,  the  youth  who  had  once  squandered  double 
the  amount  in  a  single  evening,  but  who  had  come 
to  know  what  it  meant  to  walk  about  for  days  try- 
ing to  earn  enough  to  keep  a  shelter  above  their 
heads,  it  seemed  a  small  fortune. 

And  so  two  years  had  passed.  As  soon  as  pos- 
sible they  had  moved  into  a  new  home,  a  little  four- 
room  flat  in  Harlem.  It  was  cozy  and  comfortable, 
a  sitting  and  dining  room  combined,  two  bedrooms 
and  a  tiny  kitchen.  Marjorie  did  all  of  the  work, 
even  to  their  washing.  At  first,  Howard  objected 
to  this.  She  seemed  so  frail,  he  was  sure  that  she 
could  never  stand  it;  but  when  she  assured  him  that 
she  never  felt  better  in  all  her  life,  that  the  work 
was  like  play,  and  gave  her  something  with  which 
to  occupy  herself  while  he  was  at  work,  he  agreed 
to  let  her  do  as  she  pleased. 

He  left  at  seven-thirty  every  morning  to  go  to 
his  work,  and  at  six  he  returned,  always  to  find  a 
hot,  tempting  dinner  waiting  for  him.  At  noon, 
when  he  opened  his  lunch-box,  some  new  delicacy 
or  dainty  invariably  met  his  eye.  How  could  he 
possibly  know  that  Marjorie  went  without  her  own 


282       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

lunch  many  a  Hay  in  order  to  provide  these  little 
luxuries  for  him  ? 

How  was  he  to  know  that  when  evening  after 
evening  she  greeted  him  at  the  door  with  a  smile, 
she  had  dragged  herself  about  all  day  doing  her 
work,  cooking  his  dinner,  mending  his  clothes,  with- 
out uttering  a  word  of  complaint,  while  she  suffered 
the  most  excruciating  pain?  It  had  begun  about  a 
year  ago,  while  they  were  enduring  so  many  hard- 
ships, a  sharp,  stinging  sensation,  somewhere  in  the 
region  of  her  heart,  that  at  times  almost  drove  her 
insane. 

Apparently  they  were  both  quite  happy.  They 
never  referred  to  the  past.  Their  lives  seemed  to 
date  from  the  day  when  they  left  Hugh  Benton's 
house  together.  Howard  could  not  know  that  at 
times  Marjorie  lay  awake  all  night  wondering  about 
Elinor  and  Hugh.  She  had  never  heard  a  word 
from  Elinor  since  the  day  she  said  good-by  to  her 
over  the  telephone,  and  of  Hugh,  she  had  heard 
but  twice,  and  that  was  through  the  society  columns 
of  the  paper. 

The  first  time  it  had  been  quite  by  accident. 
Howard  had  been  lying  on  the  couch  one  Sunday 
afternoon  reading  "The  Times."  He  had  fallen 
asleep,  and  the  paper  slipped  to  the  floor.  She 
picked  it  up,  and  the  name  "Benton"  caught  her  eye. 
It  was  a  small  item  saying  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hugh 
Benton  had  returned  from  Paris,  and  had  reopened 
"The  Castle,"  where  they  expected  to  entertain  ex- 
tensively during  the  coming  season.  After  that,  she 
searched  the  paper  every  day,  but  she  never  saw 
another  article  until  one  day,  she  read  of  the  de- 
parture of  Hugh  Benton  for  California  for  an 
indefinite  stay. 

On  the  other  hand,  how  was  she  to  know  that  at 
times  Howard  was  lonely  and  unhappy?  He  was 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       283 

just  a  boy — not  quite  twenty-three.  All  day  long  he 
worked  hard,  and  then  came  home  to  spend  his 
evenings  with  her.  It  was  true  that  he  loved  her 
devotedly,  and  that  he  rejoiced  in  the  thought  of 
being  able  to  take  care  of  her,  but  just  the  same,  he 
was  young,  and  at  times  he  craved  young  society. 
The  monotony  began  to  get  on  his  nerves.  The 
worst  of  it  all  was  that  he  couldn't  see  where  it 
would  ever  change;  but  he  wouldn't  worry  his 
mother,  so  he  smiled  and  laughed  always,  and  made 
her  believe  he  was  contented  and  happy — just  as 
she  never  permitted  him  to  know  of  her  days  of 
suffering,  of  her  heartaches  and  longing,  her  hours 
of  loneliness.  In  front  of  the  boy  she  worshiped, 
she  was  always  bright  and  smiling. 

They  were  sitting  down  to  dinner  one  evening 
when  Howard,  shyly  and  half  shame-facedly  told 
his^ mother  of  a^dance  he  would  like  to  attend. 

"I  wonder  if  you  would  mind,  dearest,  if  I 
went?"  he  asked. 

uWhy,  no  dear,"  she  answered  heartily.  "I'd  be 
glad  to  have  you  go  anywhere  for  a  little  pleasure. 
You  work  so  hard  you  need  more  recreation." 

"But  you  know,  I  don't  like  to  leave  you  alone 
evenings,  mother,"  the  boy  demurred.  "Even  when 
I  go  to  the  first  show  at  the  movies,  and  you  won't 
go^with  me,  I'm  uneasy  until  I  get  back  to  you." 

"That's   foolish,   dear.      You   shouldn't   feel  like 

She  smiled  at  him  lovingly.      "I'm   rather 

tired  at  night,  and  I  usually  have  some  mending  or 

darning  to  do.     But  about  this  dance,  shall  I  get 

your  dress-suit  out  of  the  trunk?    You  haven't  worn 

!t  \^two  years  and  rm  afrajd  you've  outgrown  it " 

«u» No'ln1(?eed'    mother!"      He   laughed    heartily. 

*irst  of  all,  you  11  never  find  it!    I  sold  it  long  ago, 

when  we  were  so  hard  up,  and  if  I  went  to  this 

dance  in  a  dress-suit,  they'd  mob  me." 


284       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT, 

"Why,  Howard!"  She  was  becoming  alarmed. 
"What  sort  of  a  dance  is  it?" 

"Oh,  it's  a  nice  enough  dance  all  right,  but  it 
isn't  a  society  affair."  He  laughed  again.  "It's  just 
a  lot  of  plain  working  girls  and  boys  like  myself. 
One  of  the  boys  in  the  office  asked  me  to  go." 

"That's  fine,  dear.  It  will  do  you  a  lot  of  good. 
I'll  sponge  and  press  your  blue  suit  and  have  it  all 
ready  for  you." 

If  a  bride  were  being  dressed,  there  couldn't  have 
been  more  excitement  in  a  home  than  there  was  in 
the  little  flat  on  Saturday  night,  when  Howard  pre- 
pared to  go  to  the  dance.  Marjorie  had  laid  all 
his  things  out  on  his  bed  during  the  afternoon.  His 
suit  nicely  cleaned  and  pressed,  a  beautifully  laun- 
dered shirt,  his  tie,  collar,  handkerchief — everything 
was  ready. 

"Why,  mother,"  he  laughed,  as  she  bustled  about, 
handing  him  his  things.  "I  feel  like  a  girl  getting 
ready  for  my  first  party!  I  really  believe  you're 
enjoying  all  this." 

"I  am,  dear,"  she  answered,  her  cheeks  bright 
with  excitement. 

"Well,  I'm  ready."  He  stepped  back  from  the 
mirror.  "Do  I  look  all  right?" 

"I  never  saw  anyone  like  you!"  She  clasped  her 
hands  and  looked  at  him  adoringly.  "All  the  girls 
will  be  fighting  over  you!  You're  so  handsome, 
dear." 

"Mother,  you're  a  little  flatterer."  He  caught 
her  up  in  his  strong  arms  to  dance  about  the  room 
with  her. 

"Oh,  please,  dear — please  don't!"  she  screamed. 
Her  face  paled,  and  she  held  her  hand  to  her  side. 

"Why,  mother — you're  ill!  What's  wrong  with 
you?"  He  placed  her  gently  on  the  bed  and  knelt 
beside  her. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       285 

"It's — it's — nothing,  'dear."  She  forced  a  smile 
to  her  lips. 

"But  you  screamed  with  pain — and  you're  so 
white.  I'm  going  to  call  a  doctor." 

"No — no — I  won't  allow  you  to  be  so  foolish. 
I — I'm  perfectly  all  right,  dear.  You  picked  me  up 
so  suddenly  and  you're  so  big  and  strong.  It  was 
just  a  stitch  in  my  side.  See,  it's  entirely  gone  now." 
She  sat  up  on  the  edge  of  the  bed. 

"Just  the  same,"  he  said  resolutely,  "I'm  not  go- 
ing! I  wouldn't  think  of  leaving  you  alone." 

"But  you  are  going,  dear — I  insist  upon  it. 
There's  not  a  thing  in  the  world  the  matter  with 
me,  but  if  you  stayed  at  home,  you'd  make  me  think 
I  was  really  ill." 

For  ten  minutes  she  argued  until  he  was  finally 
persuaded  to  go.  At  the  door  she  kissed  him  affec- 
tionately. "Good-night,  darling!  Have  a  wonder- 
ful time  and  don't  worry  for  a  minute — I'm  per- 
fectly well." 

She  never  knew  how  she  managed  to  reach  her 
bed.  For  half  an  hour  she  suffered  the  agony  of 
'death  until  the  spasm  passed. 

But  Howard  Benton  went  to  his  first  dance  in  two 
years  with  a  heavy  heart.  In  spite  of  his  mother's 
repeated  assurances  that  she  was  perfectly  well,  he 
could  not  get  her  white,  drawn  face  out  of  his  mind. 
Once  or  twice  he  was  inclined  to  turn  back,  but  the 
fear  of  aggravating  her  prevented  him.  At  all 
;events,  he  would  insist  upon  her  seeing  a  doctor 
to-morrow. 

When  he  arrived  at  the  Hall  about  nine-thirty, 
the  dance  was  well  under  way.  He  felt  strange  and 
ill  at  ease.  The  crowd  was  so  entirely  different  from 
the  crowd  in  which  he  had  mingled  in  the  old  days. 
Outside  of  a  few  of  the  boys  from  the  office,  he 
didn't  know  a  soul.  But  it  didn't  take  him  very  long 


286       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

to  become  acquainted.  He  was  a  good  dancer,  han'd- 
some,  and  a  gentleman — three  things  always  bound 
to  attract  young  women  in  whatever  station  of 
life. 

About  eleven  o'clock,  Frank  O'Connor,  one  of  the 
Floor  Committee  came  up  to  him:  "Say,  Benton," 
he  offered,  "I  want  to  introduce  you  to  a  peach  of  a 
girl.  She's  a  dandy  dancer,  and  as  pretty  as  a 
picture." 

"All  right,  you  can't  hurt  my  feelings,"  Howard 
laughed.  "Lead  the  way !" 

He  followed  him  across  the  room  to  a  corner, 
where  a  girl  stood  talking  to  two  other  girls. 
O'Connor  touched  her  on  the  shoulder:  "Just  a 
minute,  Kate — I  want  you  to  meet  a  friend  of 
mine." 

She  turned,  and  Howard  was  looking  at  one  of 
the  prettiest  girls  he  had  ever  seen.  Her  beauty 
was  neither  statuesque  nor  dainty  and  refined;  it  was 
something  quite  different.  Just  a  saucy,  Irish  face, 
with  dark  blue  roguish  eyes,  white  and  pink  skin,  a 
little  turned-up  nose,  and  bobbed,  black  curls. 

"Miss  Walsh,  meet  Mr.  Benton."  O'Connor  per- 
formed the  introductions. 

"Happy  to  know  you,  Mr.  Benton!"  She  smiled 
at  him,  revealing  two  rows  of  dazzling  white  teeth. 

"I'm  very  glad  to  meet  you,  Miss  Walsh!" 
Howard  bowed.  "How  about  this  dance?"  as  the 
"specially  engaged  jazz-band"  began  to  play 
"Mammy." 

"Sorry,"  she  answered.  "Just  promised  it  to  a 
guy.  But  will  you  meet  me  here  for  the  next,  if 
you  ain't  got  it  taken?" 

He  met  her  for  the  next,  and  the  next,  and  the 
next.  By  the  time  the  dance  was  over,  he  had  been 
her  partner  eight  times,  and  had  gained  her  consent 
to  see  her  home. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       287 

She  lived  just  three  blocks  from  his  own  home, 
and  a  distance  of  twenty  blocks  from  the  hall.  But 
they  walked  slowly  home  in  the  moonlight,  she 
clinging  to  his  arm  and  looking  up  into  his  face  as 
she  talked.  They  hadn't  gone  ten  blocks  before  she 
had  told  him  her  life's  history — how  her  mother 
had  been  married  three  times,  and  of  all  the  children 
in  the  family,  real  brothers  and  sisters,  half  brothers 
and  sisters,  and  step-brothers  and  sisters.  She  pos- 
sessed real  Irish  wit,  and  her  way  of  telling  these 
things  was  most  amusing.  Howard  found  himself 
laughing  heartily.  Through  it  all,  she  told  him  she 
was  perfectly  independent,  as  she  had  been  self- 
supporting  since  she  was  ten  years  old. 

"I  ain't  never  had  much  chance  to  go  to  school," 
she  said.  "Just  picked  up  what  learnin'  I  could 
now  and  then.  I  never  seen  my  real  father — he  died 
when  I  was  just  a  little  thing,  and  step-fathers  ain't 
much  for  lookin'  after  other  people's  kids.  So  I 
just  had  to  work  and  take  care  of  myself." 

"You  deserve  a  lot  of  credit  for  it,  Miss  Walsh," 
Howard  said  admiringly.  "It's  pretty  hard  for  a 
man  to  battle  with  the  world,  but  it  must  be  mighty 
tough  on  a  woman,  especially  a  slip  of  a  girl — like 
you." 

"I  ain't  never  noticed  it  much.  Guess  it's  cause  I 
ain't  never  knowed  the  difference." 

"You  live  at  home  with  your  mother,  don't  you?" 
he  asked. 

"Sure  I  do!  Ma  and  me  always  gets  along  fine. 
She  lets  me  do  just  as  I  want,  'cause  she  knows  I'm 
independent,  and  besides,  she's  got  her  hands  full 
with  the  other  kids." 

When  they  reached  her  door,  she  held  out  her 
hand.  "I'm  awful  glad  to  have  met  you,  Mr.  Ben- 
ton.  Hope  I'll  see  you  again?" 

"May  I  call?"  he  asked  eagerly. 


288       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

"Why  sure  you  can.  I'll  be  glad!  to  have  you 
any  time  you  say." 

"How  about — to-morrow  evening?" 

"Gee!  You  believe  in  rushin'  things,  don't  you?" 
She  giggled.  "All  right — to-morrow  evenin'  '11  be 
fine." 

She  hurried  upstairs  and  crawled  into  bed  with 
three  little  sisters.  Soon  she  was  dreaming  about  a 
boy  with  wonderful  dark  eyes  and  curly  hair. 

As  Howard  walked  the  remaining  three  blocks  to 
his  home,  he  wondered  what  had  happened  to  him. 
He  felt  so  happy  and  light-hearted.  The  sensation 
of  loneliness  that  had  made  him  so  miserable  only 
yesterday,  seemed  suddenly  to  have  disappeared.  As 
he  inserted  his  key  in  the  lock,  he  felt  like  whistling 
or  humming  a  tune,  and  it  was  only  the  remembrance 
of  the  lateness  of  the  hour  that  kept  him  from  yield- 
ing to  his  inclination. 

"Howard!"  Marjorie  called  from  her  room  as 
she  heard  him  come  in. 

He  started  suddenly  as  he  opened  her  door  and 
peered  into  the  darkness:  "What  are  you  doing 
awake  as  late  as  this,  dearest?  Are  you  feeling 
better?" 

"Of  course,  dear.  I  told  you  I  was  all  right  be- 
fore you  left.  Did  you  have  a  good  time?" 

"Yes,  mother,  I  had  a  dandy  time." 

"I'm  so  glad.  To-morrow  you  shall  tell  me  all 
about  it.  You  must  be  tired  after  so  much  dancing. 
Good-night,  darling." 

"Good-night,  dearest."  He  bent  over  and  kissed 
her  tenderly. 

Instead  of  undressing  and  hurrying  into  bed,  he 
walked  to  the  window  in  his  room  and  opened  it 
wide,  staring  out  upon  the  fire-escapes  filled  with 
lines  of  washing. 

He  still  couldn't  imagine  what  had  happened  to. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       289 

him  that  night;  and  he  was  trying  to  fathom  it.  He 
wasn't  thinking  of  the  dance  or  the  girl  he  had  met. 
He  was  thinking  that  he  had  left  his  home  heavy- 
hearted  and  terribly  worried  over  his  beloved 
mother,  and  yet  he  had  come  back  a  few  hours  later 
in  such  a  state  of  exultation,  that  he  had  forgotten 
all  about  her  until  she  startled  him  by  calling  his 
name.  It  almost  frightened  him — this  thing  that 
had  taken  possession  of  him — and  that  he  couldn't 
explain,  even  to  himself! 

The  next  morning  he  slept  until  almost  noon  for 
Marjorie  always  let  him  rest  as  long  as  he  pleased 
on  Sunday.  He  opened  his  eyes  greatly  refreshed  in 
mind  and  body.  The  feeling  of  light-heartedness  still 
remained  with  him.  He  could  have  started  singing 
joyously — for  some  unaccountable  reason.  But  the 
anxious  and  worried  feeling  about  his  mother  he  had 
the  night  before  had  disappeared.  Somehow  things 
appear  so  different  in  the  daylight  than  they  do  in 
the  darkness. 

He  sat  down  to  the  tempting  breakfast  Marjorie 
placed  before  him. 

"Umm  —  mother  —  waffles  and  maple-syrup  ? 
Just  what  I  feel  like  eating.  Aren't  you  going  to 
have  some?" 

"No,  indeed!"  she  laughed.  "I've  had  my  break- 
fast hours  ago.  It's  noon,  dear,  but  I  knew  you  were 
tired  after  last  night,  so  I  just  let  you  sleep  it  out." 

"I'm  glad  you  did;  I  feel  thoroughly  rested." 

She  sat  opposite  him  while  he  ate,  enjoying  the 
way  he  seemed  to  relish  each  mouthful. 

"Now  tell  me  all  about  the  dance,"  she  said. 
"Did  they  have  a  nice  crowd?" 

"Yes — a  very  nice  crowd." 

"Did  you  dance  every  dance?" 

"Every  blessed  one !  The  music  was  fine,  and  as 
I  told  you,  last  night,  I  had  a  dandy  time.  Would 


290       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

you  like  to  go  to  Central  Park  this  afternoon?"  he 
asked  suddenly,  anxious  to  change  the  subject. 

Somehow  he  didn't  want  to  talk  about  last  night, 
but  couldn't  have  given  a  reason  for  the  reluctancy 
he  felt  in  mentioning  it. 

"No,  dear,"  Marjorie  answered.  "I  prefer  rest- 
ing this  afternoon,  if  you  don't  mind.  But  you  go 
somewhere  yourself — to  a  movie,  or  a  vaudeville." 

"No,  I'll  stay  home  with  you.  I — I  may  take  a 
little  run  out — this  evening." 

"Certainly,  dear.  That's  right."  She  began 
clearing  away  the  dishes. 

Kate  Walsh  received  Howard  Benton  in  the 
"front-room"  of  the  Walsh  flat — a  shabbily  fur- 
nished little  square  of  room  that  was  used  mainly 
for  three  purposes — receiving  company,  exhibiting  a 
new  baby,  or  holding  a  wake. 

The  family  had  been  banished  to  the  kitchen  at 
the  end  of  the  hall  for  the  evening,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  her  mother,  whom  Kate  brought  into  intro- 
duce to  Howard.  Mrs.  Walsh  was  a  good-natured, 
stout  little  woman,  rather  tired  and  faded  looking. 
She  had  been  in  this  country  since  she  was  sixteen, 
but  she  still  clung  to  her  native  brogue. 

"Shure,  Mister  Benton,  'tis  glad  to  meet  ye  Oi  am. 
Kitty  here's  been  tellin'  me  what  a  foine  young 
gintleman  ye  are." 

"Oh,  Ma,  you  do  say  such  things !"  Kate  giggled. 
"You  ain't  got  no  delicacy  at  all." 

Mrs.  Walsh  looked  wise,  but  kept  silent.  She 
didn't  know  exactly  what  Kitty  meant  by  delicacy. 
After  a  minute,  she  held  out  her  hand  to  Howard. 

"If  ye'll  be  afther  excusin'  me,  Mister  Benton," 
she  apologized,  "Oi'll  be  sayin'  good-night  to  ye,  and 
goin'  back  to  the  babies.  It's  about  toime  they  wuz 
in  bed." 

And  feeling  that  she  had  nobly  done  her  duty  by 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       291 

her  daughter  by  coming  into  be  introduced  to  the 
gentleman — the  same  as  all  the  society  matrons  did 
in  the  novels  Kitty  read  and  told  her  about — Mrs. 
Walsh  bowed  herself  out,  and  hastened  to  the  more 
urgent  duties  awaiting  her  in  the  kitchen. 

Howard  remained  until  ten-thirty.  He  enjoyed 
the  evening  immensely;  Kate  was  such  good  com- 
pany. 

"Of  course,"  he  began  making  excuses  to  him- 
self on  his  way  home,  "she  is  illiterate,  and  she  did 
say  some  of  the  most  ridiculous  things,  trying  to  use 
expressions  she  had  picked  up  in  novels.  But  alto- 
gether, she  is  a  sort  of  rough  diamond,  and  after  all, 
education  does  amount  to  very  much — I'll  tell  the 
world  mine  hasn't!  And  she's  so  very  young!  A 
few  months'  instruction  from  a  private  teacher  would 
do  wonders  for  her,  or — um — um — maybe  I  could 
take  her  on  myself."  The  idea  was  far  from  dis- 
agreeable to  the  youth  who  had  never  believed 
pedagogy  to  be  anywhere  in  his  line. 

At  the  end  of  the  week,  after  he  had  seen  Kate 
five  more  times,  he  knew  what  was  the  matter  with 
him.  For  the  first  time  in  his  young  life  he  was 
madly  in  love! 

He  didn't  know  whether  his  love  was  reciprocated 
or  not.  Kate  seemed  to  like  him  pretty  well;  she 
was  glad  to  stay  at  home  and  have  him  call  when  she 
might  have  gone  out  with  some  other  chap.  He 
had  never  even  attempted  to  kiss  her.  She  wasn't 
the  kind  of  girl  who  invited  that  sort  of  thing.  He 
went  with  her  steadily  for  another  month,  taking  her 
to  movies,  or  dances,  on  the  evenings  he  didn't  spend 
at  her  home. 

"What  did  his  mother  think  about  his  going  out 
every  night?"  he  wondered.  She  never  questioneH 
him  when  evening  after  evening  he  kissed  her  good- 
night and  said:  "I  won't  be  out  very  late,  mother, 


292       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

just  going  for  a  walk" ;  or,  "Going  to  a  show" ;  or, 
"Going  to  a  dance  to-night."  Finally  he  felt  that 
he  must  say  something  to  her — sort  of  pave  the  way 
as  it  were.  She  must  know  that  he  was  going  about 
with  a  girl,  or  else  some  day  it  might  prove  too  much 
of  a  shock. 

"Dearest,"  he  said  one  evening,  after  he  had 
kissed  her  good-lry,  "don't  you  think  my  going  out 
like  this  every  evening  sort  of — well — sort  of 
funny?" 

"Why,  no,  dear,"  she  answered  bravely,  struggling 
hard  to  look  unconcerned  lest  he  read  the  contradic- 
tion to  her  words  in  her  face.  "I'm  glad  to  see  you 
go — you  were  getting  into  a  rut,  staying  in  so  much. 
You're  too  young  to  do  that." 

"It's  a  joy  to  have  a  mother  who  looks  at  things 
as  sensibly  as  you  do,"  he  answered,  patting  her 
hand  affectionately.  "You  see,  dear,  I — I've  met  a 
very  nice  little  girl — and  I  enjoy  going  about  with 
her." 

"Yes — dear "  Although  she  smiled,  the 

mother's  heart  held  a  leaden  weight.  "That's  nice," 
was  her  comment. 

"I'm  going  to  bring  her  to  meet  you  some  day," 
he  told  her,  but  he  was  careful  not  to  say  too 
much. 

A  month  later  Howard  proposed  to  Kate.  One 
Sunday  afternoon  and  they  had  gone  for  a  long 
walk.  Everything  seemed  to  be  in  his  favor.  The 
day  could  not  have  been  more  perfect — one  of  those 
glorious,  crisp,  sunshiny  days  every  New  Yorker 
knows  and  loves.  They  came  to  a  bench  in  one  of 
the  smaller  parks,  and  sat  down  to  rest.  The  sky 
had  never  seemed  so  blue  nor  the  grass  so  green. 
The  birds  sang  more  sweetly  than  he  had  ever  known 
they  could,  and  the  flowers  about  them  had  wafted 
a  fragrance  that  was  heady.  What  a  wonderful 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT        293 

place  this  old  world  was  after  all,  he  thought,  as 
he  reached  for  her  hand.  Just  made  for  love  and 
joy  and  youth ! 

"Katie,  dear,"  he  said  simply  as  his  grip  tightened 
on  the  capable  little  fingers,  "I — I  want  to  tell  you 
that  I  love  you  very,  very  dearly." 

"Oh — Howard — "     She  hung  her  head. 

"Do  you — like  me — a  little?"  He  lifted  her 
chin,  and  looked  into  her  eyes. 

"Of  course — I  like  you!"  She  was  blushing  rosy 
red.  "But  not  a  little !  I — I  like  you  a  whole  lot." 

"You  darling!"  His  arms  went  out  to  draw  her 
to  him.  They  were  in  a  secluded  spot,  but  it  would 
have  made  no  difference  to  Howard  Benton  had  they 
been  in  the  open.  "You  darling — little  girl — I — 
I'm  just  crazy  about  you  !" 

"Howard — someone  might  see  you,"  the  girl  de- 
murred, but  her  sigh  of  happiness  contradicted  her 
speech  as  she  snuggled  closer  to  him.  "Gee,  but  I'm 
happy  you  love  me!" 

"I've  loved  you  since  the  first  moment  I  met  you, 
Katie — but  I  was  afraid  you  might  not  care  about 
me." 

"Ain't  that  funny  now !  I  loved  you  too,  from  the 
start.  It  must  abeen  love  at  first  sight,"  she  giggled. 
"Only  I  was  afraid  a  swell  educated  fellow  like  you 
wouldn't  notice  an  ignorant  girl  like  me." 

"You're  sweet  and  good — and  I  love  you,  dear." 
He  kissed  her.  "And  after  we're  married,  I'll  spend 
a  lot  of  time  teaching  you,  and  in  a  short  time  you 
won't  know  yourself." 

"Gee,  that'll  be  great!  Ain't  it  a  shame  I  never 
went  to  school  much?  I  had  to  work  ever  since  I 
was  a  kid." 

"I'm  sure  you're  not  to  blame  because  you've  never 
had  the  opportunity  to  obtain  an  education.  But  that 
will  come  in  time," 


294       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

"Well,  I'll  try  hard  enough,"  she  replied  ear- 
nestly. 

"And  you'll  succeed  too,"  he  assured  her.  "Now, 
darling,  I  must  tell  you  something  that  I  think  you 
ought  to  know.  It  may  make  a  difference  in  your 
love  for  me." 

He  told  her  all  about  the  affair  of  two  years  ago 
— of  Elinor,  of  his  father,  of  Mrs.  DeLacy,  of  his 
wonderful  mother.  Everything  just  as  it  had  hap- 
pened. He  was  a  long  time  in  telling  it,  as  he  dwelt 
on  each  point,  to  make  it  all  perfectly  clear  to  her. 

When  he  had  finished,  it  was  with  a  sad  little 
smile  he  asked:  "So  now,  dear,  you  see,  I've  had 
quite  a  past.  Will  it  make  a  difference?" 

"Just  this  much  of  a  difference."  The  tears  were 
streaming  down  her  cheeks  as  she  clutched  him. 
"That  I  love  you  more  than  ever.  Why  you're 
grand,  dear!  You're  a  hero — I — I'm  proud  of 
you!" 

"Oh,  Katie,  dear,  you  wonderful  girl!" 

"I  knew  all  along  you  wuz  a  swell,  though,  and 
didn't  belong  with  the  gang  around  here!"  She 
nodded  her  head  vigorously  at  the  recognition  of  her 
own  sagacity. 

"When  can  we  get  married,  Katie?  I  hope  we 
won't  have  to  wait  too  long?"  Now  that  he  had 
spoken,  Howard  was  all  eagerness. 

"I  can  be  ready  most  any  time.  Of  course,"  she 
added  with  a  twinkle  in  her  eye  and  her  little  nose 
wrinkled  up  in  that  maddening  way  she  had,  "it  may 
take  a  few  months  to  get  my  troussee  ready.  I'll 
see  if  Lady  Duff  Gordon  or  Lucille  can  spare  the 


time." 


"Funniest  little  kid!"  he  laughed  heartily.  "But 
let's  talk  it  over  now  and  try  to  settle  upon  a  day." 
He  told  her  about  his  position  and  just  what  he  was 
earning. 


"Gee,  that's  a  wonderful  job,  Howard,  and  you're 
earning  more  than  Ma's  old  man,  and  he's  been  in 
one  place  for  years." 

"Then  you  think  we  can  manage  on  it  all  right?" 

"Manage?  Why,  we'll  live  like  millionaires,"  she 
enthused. 

"Of  course,  we  won't  have  to  get  a  house — that 
will  help  some.  Our  flat's  furnished  very  nicely  and 
we  have  four  rooms." 

"I  know — I  ain't  never  seen  yours,  but  I've  been 
in  the  buildin'  to  see  Mrs.  Lambert,  and  they're 
beautiful  flats.  Say,  'do  you  think  your  mother's 
goin'  to  like  me?" 

"How  could  anyone  help  liking  you?  You're  so 
pretty,  so  sweet,  Katie." 

"Maybe — but  that  don't  mean  very  much  to  most 
women,"  she  answered  dubiously. 

"My  mother's  different,"  he  defended.  "She'll  be 
wonderful  to  you  and  help  you  a  lot.  I  know  you 
two  are  going  to  get  along  wonderfully  together." 

"Why,  Howard!"  she  sat  back  suddenly  and 
looked  at  him.  "You  ain't  figurin'  on  your  mother 
livin'  with  us,  are  you?" 

"Certainly,  "dear."  His  astonishment  was  equal 
to  her  own.  "Surely,  you  didn't  think  I  intended 
to  leave  my  mother?" 

"Well,  don't  every  boy  and  every  girl  leave  their 
mothers  when  they  get  married?  You  ain't  no  dif- 
ferent!" 

"No — but  my  mother's  different,"  he  answered 
tenderly.  "Why,  she's  a  brick,  I  tell  you.  She  stood 
by  me  through  thick  and  thin!  She  had  a  lot  of 
money  two  years  ago,  but  she  spent  every  dollar  of 
it  forme!" 

"Well,  it's  a  mother's  'duty  to  stanH  by  her  chil- 
rdren,  ain't  it?" 

"I  don't  know  about  that!     I  hadn't  been  such  a 


296       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

wonderful  son  to  her,  and  it's  only  in  the  last  two 
years  we've  grown  so  close  to  each  other.  I  wouldn't 
hurt  her  for  the  world!"  he  declared. 

"Oh,  all  right,  kid!"  Katie  moved  away  from 
him.  "If  that's  the  way  you  feel  about  it — let's 
just  call  our  engagement  off!" 

"Katie!  You  wouldn't  do  that!  I  love  you  too 
muchl" 

"And  I  love  you,  Howard.  But  there  ain't  goin' 
to  be  no  mother-in-law  business  in  my  life.  My  ma 
says  to  me :  'Take  it  from  me,  Kitty,  there  ain't  no 
home  big  enough  for  two  families.'  And  she  ought 
to  know.  She's  been  married  three  times." 

"But  there  wouldn't  be  anything  like  that  with  my 
mother — you're  bound  to  love  her." 

"Sure!  That's  all  right,"  she  answered  heartily. 
"I  want  to  love  her,  and  I  want  her  to  love  me! 
But  I  don't  want  to  live  with  her." 

"It's  the  terrible  loneliness  of  it  all  that  keeps  me 
thinking,"  Howard  went  on  ruminatively,  as  though 
he  were  thinking  aloud.  "You  see,  mother  never 
goes  anywhere.  Why  she  never  leaves  the  flat  unless 
it  is  to  go  on  an  errand,  or  do  her  marketing.  She 
hasn't  a  friend  or  companion.  She  just  lives  for  me 
alone." 

"Well,  we  can  see  her  every  'day,  can't  we?  She'll 
get  used  to  it  all  right.  Every  mother's  got  to  see 
her  kids  grow  up  and  get  married,  and  leave  her. 
She  didn't  think  you  was  goin'  to  be  a — a — you  know 
what  I  mean — an  old-maid  man — did  she?" 

Howard  smiled  in  spite  of  himself.  "No,  I  sup- 
pose not.  But  come  up  now,  and  meet  my  mother. 
You  may  feel  differently  after  that." 

"I'll  go  and  meet  your  mother  willingly — but  I 
won't  change  my  mind,"  was  his  fiancee's  stubborn 
reply.  "There  ain't  goin'  to  be  no  mother-in- 
laws » 


297 

He  stopped  her  with  a  kiss  as  they  started  down 
the  path. 

Marjorie  had  just  stepped  out  to  go  to  the  delica- 
tessen store  on  the  corner  for  a  few  things.  It  was 
just  a  little  after  five,  her  table  was  set,  and  every- 
thing ready  for  supper,  although  she  didn't  expect 
Howard  for  another  hour.  Very  often  on  Sunday 
night,  she  arranged  a  cold  meal.  Howard  opened 
the  door  and  drew  the  bashful  Katie  in  after  him. 

"Come  in,  dear — I'll  call  mother."  He  went  to 
the  door  leading  to  the  kitchen.  "Oh,  mother, 
dear." 

He  looked  in  and  then  went  to  the  bedroom. 
"She's  not  here — "  he  turned  to  Kate,  "but  she 
won't  be  long.  I  suppose  she  has  gone  on  an  errand. 
See  the  table  is  set  for  supper.  Come  take  off  your 
things,"  attempting  to  remove  her  hat. 

"No,  I  won't  take  off  my  hat."  She  fidgeted 
about.  "I'm  so  nervous — I'll  just  wait  and  meet 
your  mother,  and  then  I'll  run  downstairs  and  visit 
Mrs.  Lambert." 

"You  don't  have  to  be  nervous,  dear — every- 
thing's bound  to  be  all  right."  He  pulled  down  the 
shade  and  switched  on  the  light. 

Kate  looked  about  admiringly. 

"My,  this  is  a  gorgeous  flat.  Ain't  the  furniture 
handsome!"  she  enthused. 

"I'm  so  glad  you  like  it.  We're  going  to  be  very 
happy.  You  do  love  me,  don't  you?"  Howard 
caught  her  in  his  arms. 

"Of  course,  I  do — you  big  boob."  She  kissed 
him.  "You  know,  I'm  just  crazy  about  you." 

"No  more  than  I  am  about  you."  He  returned 
her  kiss.  "Still,"  he  added,  "I'd  give  anything  dear, 
if  I  could  only  persuade  you  to  let  my  mother  live 
with  us." 

Kate  turned  irritably.     "Do  we  have  to  start  all 


298        THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

over  that  thing  again?"  she  asked,  with  eyes  flash- 
ing. "I  thought  it  was  all  settled." 

Further  discussion  was  interrupted  by  Marjorie' s 
entrance.  She  was  carrying  a  market  basket  and  she 
looked  pale  and  tired  in  her  shabby  little  dress. 

"Good  evening,  dear,"  she  said,  as  Howard 
rushed  to  her,  and  relieved  her  of  the  basket.  "I 
didn't  expect  you  home  so  early.  I  have  a  cold 
supper,  just  the  things  you  like.  I  had  a  little  time 
to  spare  so  I  ran  down  to  the  corner  to  get  a  few 
things  for  to-morrow.  Oh — I  beg  your  pardon." 
She  noticed  Kate  for  the  first  time.  "I  didn't  know 
you  had  company." 

"Mother,"  he  said,  putting  his  arm  about  her,  and 
leading  her  forward,  "I  want  you  to  meet  Katie — 
Katie  Walsh — the  girl  I  told  you — I — I  cared  for. 
Well,  she  has  promised — to — become  my  wife!" 

"Your — your  wife,  dear?  Why — why  I  am  sur- 
prised." She  leaned  against  him  heavily. 

"I've  cared  for  Katie  ever  since  the  first  night  I 
met  her — but  I  wasn't  sure  she  loved  me — until  this 
afternoon.  We  came  right  up  to  tell  you." 

"I — I  see."  Marjorie  was  endeavoring,  with  all 
her  might,  to  come  out  of  her  state  of  bewilderment. 
Steadying  herself  with  an  effort  she  went  over  to 
Kate  and  held  out  her  hand. 

"I'm  glad  to  know  you,  dear,"  she  said  in  her 
sweet,  simple  tones,  "and  I  hope  you  will  make  my 
boy — very  happy." 

"I'm  goin'  to  try  to,  Mrs.  Benton,"  Katie  replied 
warmly.  "I'm  for  him  as  much  as  he  is  for  me, — 
so  I  can't  see  how  we  can  help  bein'  happy." 

Marjorie  winced,  but  she  spoke  cheerfully. 
"Love  is  the  foundation  of  all  real  happiness,  my 
dear.  I'm  glad  you  have  the  right  idea.  You  must 
stay  and  have  supper  with  us — it  won't  take  a  second 
to  set  another  place.  I'm  anxious  to  have  you  tell 
me  all  about  yourself." 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       299 

"I — I  don't  think  I  can  stay."  Katie  was  evi- 
dently uncomfortable.  "I  was  just  goin'  to  run 
down  to  see  Mrs.  Lambert — before  goin'  home. 
Howard  can  come  over  after  his  supper." 

"But  you  mustn't  run  away  like  this,"  Marjorie 
urged.  "I've  only  just  met  you!  We've  so  much 
to  talk  about,  you  know.  Come,  Howard,  you  coax 
her  to  stay." 

"Of  course,  she'll  stay,  mother."  Howard  re- 
moved Katie's  hat  without  asking  her,  whispering  in 
her  ear:  "Stay  if  she  wants  you  to,  dear." 

"That's  fine!"  Marjorie  started  for  the  kitchen. 
"I  know  you'll  excuse  me  for  a  few  minutes." 

Howard  opened  the  door  and  carried  her  basket 
into  the  kitchen  for  her,  then  he  hurried  back  to 
Katie  and  squeezed  her  joyously. 

"Now,  wasn't  she  fine?    What  did  I  tell  you?" 

"Whew!"  Katie  made  a  stab  at  whistling.  "She's 
so  grand  she  makes  the  chills  run  up  and  down  my 
back!  Do  you  know,  Howard,  all  the  time  she  was 
talkin'  to  me,  I  felt  as  if  she  was  lookin'  right  inside 
of  me — through  my  clothes  and  all." 

"Mother's  true  blue  all  right!"  Howard  declared 
proudly.  "The  way  she  took  it  is  a  great  relief  to 
me.  I  confess  I  was  terribly  nervous  for  a  minute. 
I  hope  we  won't  have  any  trouble  with  your  mother, 
dear?" 

"Humph!  My  Ma's  goin'  to  be  tickled  to  'death! 
Besides,  she  ain't  got  nothin'  to  say  about  me — I 
told  you  I've  always  been  self-supportin'." 

In  the  kitchen  Marjorie  was  gathering  up  the 
dishes  and  cutlery  for  the  extra  place  at  the  table. 
Her  tears  were  falling  so  fast  they  almost  blinded 
her.  She  kept  brushing  them  away  as  she  whispered 
over  and  over  to  herself: 

"Dear  God,  help  me  to-night.  Give  me  the 
strength  to  make  my  boy — happy!" 


CHAPTER  XXI 

HOWARD'S  mother  arranged  a  place  at  the 
table  next  to  him  for  Katie,  then  brought  in 
a  platter  of  cold  meats,  some  potato  salad, 
and  a  pot  of  coffee.     Howard,  as  was  his  custom, 
held  the  chairs  for  his  mother  and  their  guest,  then 
seated  himself. 

"I  hope  you  like  cold  meat  and  potato  salad, 
Katie?"  Marjorie  asked,  as  she  began  to  serve. 
"Howard  prefers  it  to  anything  else  on  Sunday 
evening,  especially  during  the  warm  weather." 

"I  think  it's  fine,"  Katie  answered,  playing  nerv- 
ously with  her  napkin,  "and  it  saves  a  lot  of  work 
— cooking." 

"Don't  you  care  about  housework?" 

"Well,  I  ain't  crazy  about  it,  but  it's  got  to  be 
done.  Ma  says:  'tain't  no  use  killin'  yourself  over 
cleanin'  a  house — it  only  gets  dirty  all  over  again.' 
And  Ma's  nearly  always  right." 

Marjorie  sat  almost  dumfoundedly  looking  back 
and  forth  between  Katie  and  Howard.  Surely  she 
must  be  dreaming  all  this.  Her  wonderful  boy — 
intending  to  marry  this  girl  who  couldn't  even  speak 
grammatically. 

"Please  pour  my  coffee,  mother."  Howard  was 
anxious  to  say  something. 

"Yes,  dear."  She  began  pouring  the  coffee,  her 
mind  miles  away  from  what  she  was  doing. 

"You're  spilling  it,  mother."  He  stopped  her, 
impatiently. 

"I — I'm  sorry,  dear,"  she  murmured  as  she 
handed  a  cup  to  Katie.  "I  don't  know  what  made 
me  so  careless." 

300 


iTHE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       301 

She  never  remembered  how  she  finished  the 
meal.  With  a  sort  of  fascinated  horror  she  kept 
her  eyes  upon  the  girl  whom  her  son  had  chosen. 
It  was  really  pitiful  to  watch  the  child  struggling  to 
handle  her  knife  and  fork  correctly.  Once  or  twice 
Marjorie  tried  to  draw  her  into  a  conversation,  but 
when  she  realized  how  uncomfortable  she  was  mak- 
ing her,  she  gave  it  up.  So  it  was  Howard  who 
kept  up  a  meaningless  chatter  until  the  supper  was 
over. 

"I — I  think  I'll  be  goin'  now,  if  you  don't  mind, 
Mrs.  Benton,"  Kate  Walsh  announced  as  soon  as 
they  rose.  "Ma  will  wonder  what's  keepin'  me. 
Thank  you  for  my  elegant  supper.  I  enjoyed  it  very 
much." 

She  lost  no  time  getting  her  hat  and  bag. 

Marjorie  held  out  her  hand.  "I — I  suppose 
you'll  come  soon  again?"  she  asked,  politely. 

"Oh,  yes!"  The  girl  placed  her  hand  in  Mar- 
jorie's  rather  timidly.  "I  will.  Now  that  you  and 
me've  met,  I  won't  be  no  stranger." 

Howard's  nerves  were  fairly  on  edge  as  he  helped 
his  fiancee  into  her  jacket.  Everything  she  said 
seemed  to  magnify  ten-fold  in  front  of  his  mother. 
He  hadn't  noticed  it  nearly  as  much  when  they  were 
alone. 

"Good-by,"  Marjorie  said.  "Come  in — whenever 
you  wish." 

"All  right — I'll  run  in  from  work  to-morrow. 
Oughten'  I  to  kiss  you,  Mrs.  Benton — now  that  I'll 
be  callin'  you — Ma?" 

Marjorie  hesitated  an  instant,  but  one  look  at 
Howard's  flushed  cheeks  and  pleading  eyes,  made 
her  answer:  "Why,  certainly — Katie."  She  kissed 
her,  then  turned  to  Howard.  "Shall  you  remain  out 
late,  dear?" 

"No,  mother,  I'll  be  home  early.  Will  you  wait 
forme?" 


302       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT, 

"Yes— I'll  wait." 

As  soon  as  the  door  closed  after  them,  she  sank  to 
her  knees  and  buried  her  head  in  her  hands. 

"Oh,  God,"  she  prayed  fervently,  "don't  let  me 
live  to  see  this!  He  can't  marry  a  girl  like  that — 
it  will  ruin  his  life !  He  has  suffered  so  much,  and 
so  have  I.  We  have  gone  through  a  great  deal  and 
borne  up,  but  in  mercy,  spare  us  this  awful  thing. 
Please,  God — Oh,  please,"  she  moaned,  as  she 
rocked  to  and  fro. 

On  the  way  to  Katie's  house,  Howard  made  a  last 
effort.  "Do  you  think  you're  going  to  love  my 
mother,  Katie?"  he  asked  her. 

"You  just  bet  I  am,  Howard — she's  so  sweet  and 
kind." 

"Well,  then — won't  you  reconsider  about  living 
with  her,  dear?"  he  asked  anxiously. 

"No — I — I  just  can't!  I  don't  know  nothin'." 
She  blushed  furiously  as  she  made  the  admission.  "I 
seen  it  to-night  plainer  than  ever.  I  just  got  to  learn 
a  lot,  before  I  could  be  around  a  woman  like  your 
mother!" 

"But  she'll  help  you,  dear — she'll  help  you  all  the 
time,"  he  pleaded. 

"No — I  couldn't  stand  that,  Howard.  I — I  want 
to  learn,  and  I  will  learn,  but  I  just  couldn't  have  no 
woman  tellin'  me  what  to  do  every  minute.  I  wish 
I  could  make  you  understand — what  I  mean,"  she 
said  wistfully. 

"I  think  I  Ho  understand,"  he  said  gently,  "and 
I  love  you  so  much  I  guess  you'll  have  to  have  it 
your  way." 

"Gee,  you  are  good,  Howard — and  some  clay 
when  I  learn  everything,  you're  goin'  to  be  proud 
of  me!" 

"Well,  then,"  he  tried  to  throw  off  his  disappoint- 
ment, "I  suppose  you  know  I'll  have  to  take  care  of 
my  mother."' 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       303 

"Of  course,"  she  answered  emphatically.  "It's 
only  right  for  you  to  do  that. 

"Well,  you  know,  I  don't  make  a  million  a  month. 
It  will  mean  a  lot  of  scrimping." 

"That  will  be  all  right  with  me,"  she  assured  him, 
"I'm  used  to  scrimpin'.  I  ain't  never  done  nothin' 
else  since  I  can  remember." 

"We'll  have  to  look  about  for  a  flat.  I'd  like  to 
stay  in  this  neighborhood  in  order  to  be  near 
mother." 

"I  don't  see  why  we  don't  keep  your  flat,"  she 
suggested,  as  a  vision  of  the  "handsome"  furniture 
appeared  before  her.  "It  would  be  easier  to  get  a 
couple  of  rooms  for  your  mother." 

"Turn  mother  out  of  her  home!"  For  a  moment 
he  was  angry  with  Kate  Walsh.  What  could  she 
mean?  "Impossible!"  He  shut  his  teeth  with  a 
click. 

"Don't  get  sore  at  me,  Howard."  There  were 
tears  in  her  voice,  and  a  tremble  that  soothed  the 
anger.  After  all,  this  little  girl  didn't  understand, 
he  remembered.  It  was  her  training.  "I  didn't 
mean  nothin'  by  that,"  she  went  on  as  she  timidly 
touched  his  arm.  "I  was  just  tryin'  to  figure  out  the 
most  savin'  way." 

"I'm  sorry,  dear.  I  didn't  mean  to  get  cross  with 
you — but  I  can't  bear  to  think  about  hurting  my 
mother." 

Child  as  she  was,  though,  Kate  Walsh  was  a  true 
daughter  of  Eve.  She  knew  what  she  wanted.  And 
she  knew  how  to  get  it.  From  the  moment  of  her 
first  view  of  the  dainty  little  apartment  Marjorie 
had  worked  so  hard  to  make  homelike  and  pleasing, 
this  little  child  of  the  people  whose  beauty  had 
bound  Howard  Benton  to  her  in  bonds  unbreakable, 
had  made  up  her  mind  that  it  should  be  her  own. 

She  slipped  her  arm  through  Howard's  and 
reached  downward  with  her  hand  till  the  warm 


304       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

'fingers  foun'd  their  way  Into  his  own.  Her  whole 
warm,  round  little  body  snuggled  up  to  him. 

"I  don't  know  much,  as  I  told  you,  dear,  but  I 
think  you're  kind  of  silly,  Howard,"  she  began  coax- 
ing. "I  just  bet  your  mother  would  say  the  same 
thing  herself.  First  of  all,  she'd  never  be  wantin' 
no  four-room  flat  all  by  herself.  Besides,  ain't  it 
easier  for  one  person  to  move  into  a  couple  of  rooms 
than  for  us  to  have  to  hustle  around  and  buy  furni- 
ture and  things?" 

"Maybe — you're   right,"    he   admitted.      "But   it 

seems  so  cruel,  I'm  afraid  she  wouldn't  see  it  as  we 
ij  »» 

"I  just  bet  she  would!"  the  girl  interrupted. 
"She's  got  lots  of  good  sense.  Why  don't  you  ask 
her  and  see?" 

"Yes — I  suppose  that  would  be  the  proper  thing 
to  do."  But  he  sighed  at  the  prospect  of  such  a  pro- 
posed interview  with  the  mother  who  had  done  so 
much  for  him;  been  so  much  to  him. 

When  he  returned  home,  he  found  his  mother 
seated  by  the  table  in  the  dining  room.  She  hadn't 
even  attempted  to  clear  the  supper  things  away  and 
he  could  not  help  but  notice  that  her  eyes  were  red 
and  swollen  with  weeping. 

"Well,  mother?"  He  tenderly  touched  her 
shoulder. 

"Yes,  dear — yes."  She  reached  up  an'd  patted 
his  hand. 

"I — I  know  you're  dreadfully  disappointed.  I — 
I'm  sorry,  mother." 

Marjorie  shook  her  head  sadly.  She  must  control 
herself  before  speaking.  Howard  moved  a  chair 
over  opposite  her  and  sat  down. 

"You  must  give  me  a  little  time,  Howard,"  she 
said  slowly.  "This  has  all  happened  so  suddenly — 
it  is  'difficult  for  me  to  grasp." 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       305 

"Well  you  expected  me  to  marry — some  day. 
Didn't  you,  mother?"  he  asked  gently. 

"Oh,  yes,  dear — yes!"  she  assured  him.  "I've 
always  wanted  you  to  marry  and  have  a  home — and 
babies — and — "  Her  sobs  choked  her,  and  she 
could  not  finish. 

"Perhaps.  But  you  don't  like  Katie!  It's  true 
she  hasn't  an  education,  but " 

"It  isn't  that"  she  interrupted  him.  "I  can't  hold 
the  girl  responsible  for  circumstances  preventing  her 
from  obtaining  one.  It's — it's  the  difference !" 

"The  difference?;' 

"Yes,"  she  hurried  on.  "The  great  chasm — be- 
tween you.  You're  blinded  by  love  now,  dear,  so 
you  think  that  the  only  thing  lacking  in  this  girl  you 
love  is  education,  something  one  can  always  remedy 
to  a  certain  extent.  But  it  isn't  that.  It's  the  natural 
refinement,  the  inborn  breeding,  which  go  to  consti- 
tute the  lady.  Those  are  the  things  she  lacks.  They 
are  the  things  bound  to  raise  a  wall  between  you 
such  as  you  will  never  be  able  to  scale." 

"But  mother,"  Howard  attempted  to  argue,  "real 
love  should  be  able  to  overcome  every  obstacle, 
haven't  you  always  held  that?" 

"Love  could  do  a  great  deal,  my  son — if  the  break 
were  only  half  or  less  than  half  way  even.  But  you 
haven't  a  thing  in  common  with  this  girl.  She  is 
so  entirely  out  of  your  class." 

"And — just  what  do  you  call  my  class?"  Howard 
asked,  with  the  impatience  of  the  youth  suddenly  be- 
come a  man,  to  whom  the  stings  of  pain  of  two  years 
past  were  still  fresh.  "A  girl  like  Nell  Thurston, 
I  suppose,"  he  suggested  bitterly,  "a  fair  weather 
friend  who  at  the  first  hint  of  trouble  packs  her 
trunks,  leaves  for  California,  and  marries  the  first 
man  she  meets." 

"You  can't  judge  every  girl  by  that  one." 


306       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

"Well,  nearly  all  of  the  society  butterflies  I  ever 
met  were  of  the  same  sort,"  he  answered  scornfully. 
"Besides,  I'm  away  from  all  that  now.  You  know, 
we're  living  an  entirely  different  life  from  that  of 
two  years  ago." 

Marjorie  Benton  was  at  a  loss  for  words.  She 
felt  that  here  was  a  situation  that  required  the  utmost 
diplomacy.  She  prayed  for  strength,  but  it  came  not. 

"Howard,"  she  asked  slowly  and  thoughtfully, 
her  eyes  on  her  son's  face  to  lose  no  shade  of  ex- 
pression. "Have  you  absolutely  made  up  your  mind 
to  marry  this — Katie  Walsh?" 

"Yes,  mother,  I  have,"  he  answered  firmly,  but 
gently.  And  watching  him,  Marjorie  Benton  knew 
that  no  matter  what  else  she  and  Hugh  might  have 
endowed  him  with,  that  Howard  had  inherited  the 
stubbornness  that  had  been  so  big  a  part  of  both 
their  natures,  that  had  wrought  so  much  ruin  to 
them  both.  She  knew  that  it  was  inevitable  that  the 
illiterate  little  Irish  girl  would  become  the  wife  of 
her  son.  "I  love  her.  I  can't  tell  you  how  dearly! 
I  was  very  lonely  when  I  met  her,  and  she  crept  into 
my  heart.  She's  a  good,  true  girl,  and  after  we're 
married,  you  and  I  can  teach  her  together." 

Marjorie  Benton  bowed  her  head  to  Fate's  decree. 
She  had  done  what  she  could.  She  had  tried  before 
— and  failed.  But  it  was  left  for  her  this  night  to 
see  the  new  monument  to  Hope  she  had  raised  up 
lie  crumbling  in  ruins  at  her  feet. 

"I  can't  say  anything  more  to  you,  Howard,"  she 
said  falteringly,  "because  I  love  you  too  much,  dear, 
to  stand  in  the  way  of  your  happiness.  I'll  just  ask 
God  to  bless  you — and  I'll  pray  that  it  is  all  for  the 
best." 

"Mother,  dear."  He  leapt  from  his  chair  to  kiss 
her.  "You're  such  a  brick!  You've  made  me 
so  happy!" 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       307 

"I'm  glad  of  that."  She  smiled  up  into  his  eager 
face,  but  he  could  not  see  the  smile  was  soulless.  He 
had  turned  to  pace  up  and  down,  fidgeting  about 
uneasily.  Suddenly  he  stopped  in  front  of  his 
mother  who  had  not  moved.  "I  have  something  else 
to  tell  you,  mother,"  he  gulped,  "and  I — I  don't 
know  just  how — to  say  it." 

Marjorie  reached  for  his  hand  and  stroked  it 
gently.  "You  mustn't  hesitate  to  tell  me  anything," 
she  assured  him.  "We've  been  very  close  to  each 
other  since — since  we  came  here.  There  must  never 
again  be  a  lack  of  confidence  between  us." 

"I'll  have  to  tell  you,  mother."  He  clasped  his 
hands  behind  him,  and  cleared  his  throat.  "I  hope 
you  won't  misunderstand — you've  got  out  of  the  way 
of  misunderstanding  me  since — since — "  he  stam- 
mered. His  mother  nodded  encouragingly.  "You 
know  I  love  you,"  he  hurried  on,  "but  I  love  Katie, 
too.  We  want  to  be  married  very  soon,  and  she — 
we — want  to  start — living  alone." 

"You — you  mean — you  want  to  move?"  She 
closed  her  eyes  for  a  moment,  "into  a  place  of  your 
own?  You  want  to  live — by  yourselves?  I — I  can't 
blame  you  for  that — only — only — it  is  going  to  be 
very  lonely  here — without  you." 

"I — I'll  see  you  every  day,  mother — and  so  will 
Katie."  He  was  eager  as  the  words  tumbled  over 
;each  other  in  his  hurry  to  have  done  with  the  dis- 
agreeable task  his  promised  wife  had  set  him.  "We 
— we  'don't  want  to  move!  Katie  likes  this  place 
very  much — and  it  is  just  the  right  size — for  us. 
We — we  thought — if  we  could  find  you — a  couple 
of  rooms — in  the  neighborhood — you  know — near 
to  us — it  would  be  fine — and  it  would  be  much  easier 
— for  you  to  move  than  it  would  be — for  us — to — 
to — find  a  place." 

He  was  scarlet  when  he  finished,  and  he  could  not 


3o8       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT, 

lift  his  eyes  from  the  floor.  The  mother  sat  as  if 
carved  in  stone.  But  the  only  emotion  she  betrayed 
was  a  slight  quivering  of  the  lips,  and  a  sudden 
twitching  of  her  eyelids. 

"I — I'll  always  take  care  of  you,  dear,"  Howard 
hastened  to  assure  her.  "Every  week  you  shall  have 
a  certain  amount  of  my  pay." 

"You — you  couldn't  do  it,  Hear."  Marjorie 
found  her  voice  at  last,  although  it  was  faint  and 
trembled  pitifully.  "You  couldn't  afford  to  keep  up 
two  homes." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  can!"  he  eagerly  plead.  "Kate  says 
she  doesn't  mind  scrimping  at  all — she  doesn't  care 
how  hard  we  have  to  struggle.  Only  she's  taken  it 
into  her  head  that  she  doesn't  want  to  live  with — 
her — mother-in-law."  His  voice  was  a  husky  whis- 
per as  the  word  he  knew  would  flay  his  mother, 
came. 

A  sob  that  she  could  not  choke  broke  on  the  still- 
ness. In  a  moment  Howard  was  on  his  knees  beside 
her,  his  arms  holding  her  close. 

"Please,  mother!"  he  begged.  "Don't  feel  that 
way !  I  love  you  just  the  same — but  I'm  a  man  now, 
and  I've  met  the  woman  I  want  to  marry.  This 
comes  into  everyone's  life." 

Her  arm  closed  about  his  neck  and  she  held  him 
close. 

"Oh,  my  dear — my  dear!"  and  now  the  sobs  came 
unchecked.  "You're  so  precious  to  me — all  that  is 
left  to  me  in  the  world!  Husband!  Daughter! 
All  gone!  Only  you,  dear, — only  you!" 

"But  I'm  not  going,  mother.  Don't  you  under- 
stand? I'll  see  you  as  much  as  ever." 

"Why — why  can't  I  stay  here?"  In  her  despair, 
she  pleaded  frantically.  "I'll  keep  to  myself — I — 
I  won't  interfere  with  a  thing.  I  won't  be  in  any- 
one's way — I  just  want  to  be  where  I  can  see  you — 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       309 

where  I  can  be  near  you — should  you  need  me !  See, 
I'm  throwing  away  all  my  pride,  dear,"  as  she 
slipped  to  her  knees,  "and  begging  you  to  let  me  stay 
— because — I  love  you  so — I  love  you  so!" 

"Hush,  mother."  He  lifted  her  from  her  knees, 
and  wiped  his  eyes.  "You're  making  this  very  hard 
for  me.  You  know  I  wouldn't  intentionally  hurt  you 
for  the  world.  I've  talked  this  over  again  and  again 
with  Kate — but  she  won't  have  it  any  other  way.  I 
— I  don't  know  what  to  do." 

"It's — all  right,  dear,"  she  whispered,  but  the  tone 
was  barely  audible  and  broken.  "It's  all  right!  I 
—I'll  go." 

"I  know  just  as  soon  as  you're  calm,  mother,  you 
will  see  things  in  a  different  light." 

"Yes,  dear — I  understand,  dear!"  she  said  quietly, 
but  the  voice  was  one  of  despair  that  the  son  did 
not  recognize  nor  heed.  "I'll  be  calm  and  sensible! 
You  want  me  to  be " 

"Yes,  dear.  Please  try — I'll  be  back  in  a  minute." 
He  went  into  his  room  and  closed  the  door. 

With  a  calmness  that  was  appalling  she  sat  where 
he  had  left  her,  staring  in  front  of  her  with  glassy 
eyes.  How  long  it  had  been  with  her  she  did  not 
know,  but  she  slowly  became  conscious  of  the  phys- 
ical pain  gnawing  at  her  heart.  Oh,  how  she  wel- 
comed it!  She  wanted  it  to  hurt  and  hurt  until'  it 
would  carry  her  off,  where  she  would  be  free  from 
pain  forever.  In  a  moment's  time,  there  flashed 
before  her  a  panoramic  view  of  her  life.  Oh,  God, 
how  useless — how  in  vain — it  had  all  been!  And 
now  (she  stretched  her  arms  out  before  her)  she 
stood  ready  to  go  out  into  the  future — alone! 
Alone !  Alone ! 


CHAPTER  XXII 

UT  into  the  future — alone!  Alone!  Alone!" 
Marjorie  Benton  read  the  words  aloud. 
For  a  moment  she  sat  very  still,  looking 
about  her  in  bewilderment. 

"Oh— oh!"  she  exclaimed,  and  again:  "O-o-h!" 

She  jumped  up  from  her  comfortable  wicker  chair 
and  ran  to  the  bedroom  door.  She  opened  it  softly. 
There  in  their  little  cribs,  sound  asleep,  were  Elinor 
and  Howard.  She  looked  about  the  room  once  more 
and  sighed  contentedly.  Yes,  here  she  was  in  her 
own  wonderful  little  kitchen.  She  picked  up  the 
book  she  had  been  reading  and  which  had  dropped 
to  the  floor  and  placed  it  on  the  table.  She  looked 
at  it,  and  turned  with  a  shudder. 

The  door  opened  quietly,  and  Hugh  tiptoed  in. 

"Why  darling!"  he  whispered,  mindful  of  the 
babies.  "Up  yet?  It's  after  twelve  o'clock." 

With  a  little  scream  of  delight,  Marjorie  ran  to 
him  and  threw  herself  into  his  arms. 

"Hugh!  Oh  Hugh,  darling!"  she  exclaimed 
breathlessly.  Again  and  again  she  kissed  him. 
"Dearest — sweetheart!  Is  it  you?" 

"Why,  honey  girl!"  Hugh  laughed  as  he  held  her 
in  his  arms.  "If  this  is  the  reception  I  receive  after 
being  away  a  few  hours,  I  think  I'll  have  to  go  some- 
where and  stay  a  week." 

"You  are  my  own  sweetheart,  aren't  you,  Hugh?" 
She  pinched  his  arms,  and  felt  of  his  shoulders  and 
chest. 

"Of  course,  I  am!  What's  the  matter  with  you, 
310 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

"dear?"  He  shook  her  gently.  "I've  never  seen  you 
act  this  way  before?" 

"Nothing — only  I'm  so  happy,  'dear."  She 
laughed  hysterically  as  she  clung  to  him.  "Because 
you're  you — and  I'm  me — and  our  babies  are  ours 
— and  this " 

"Whatever  in  the  wide  world — "  Hugh  was 
emphatically  nonplused. 

His  wife  giggled  at  his  perplexity. 

"Goose!"  she  chided  playfully.  "Can't  I  have  a 
few  dramatics  for  myself,  and  ease  up  some  of  my 
emotions."  But  as  she  saw  his  concerned  expression 
as  he  looked  at  her  so  closely,  she  added:  "Well,  if 
you  must  know,  here's  the  answer.  You  know  how 
I  love  to  read  a  book  and  always  put  you  in  the 
hero's  place  and  make  myself  the  heroine " 

"Yes,  I  know  all  about  that,  you  little  romancer," 
he  laughed,  and  he  pinched  her  flushed  cheek.  "Ac- 
cording to  the  different  people  you've  been,  you  must 
be  hundreds  of  years  old!" 

"You  can  make  fun  of  me — I  don't  care,"  she 
pouted.  "Well,  after  you  left,  Mrs.  Birmingham 
sent  me  some  books  to  read  for  her.  And  I've  been 
reading  this  one!"  She  picked  it  up,  only  to  drop 
it  as  though  it  burned  her.  "It's  all  about  a  young 
couple  like  us,"  she  informed,  "and  they  had  two 
babies,  a  boy  and  a  girl,  and  so  I  put  Howard  and 
Elinor  in  their  places.  I  had  just  finished  the  story 
when  you  came  in." 

"Well,  it  certainly  must  have  been  exciting,  judg- 
ing from  the  way  I  found  you  when  I  came  in." 

"It  was — terrible— dear!"  She  shuddered.  "The 
man  became  very  wealthy  through  an  inheritance, 
but  I  pretended  it  was  through  an  invention — Dar- 
ling, what  about  you — I  forgot  to  ask  you?" 

"Finish  telling  me  your  story  first,  and  then  I'll 
tell  you,"  he  answered  quietly. 


312       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

"There  isn't  anything  more  to  tell.  Only  the  most 
'dreadful  things  happened  to  them  all.  You  can't 
imagine  how  happy  I  was  when  I  realized  1  had 
only  been  reading  a  book,"  she  sighed,  "and  now, 
dear,  how  about  you?  Were  you  successful?" 

"Why — why,"  he  hesitated  for  a  moment,  "yes, 
'dear— I " 

"Oh — no — no  dear — don't  tell  me  that!"  There 
was  a  catch  in  her  voice  as  her  hand  went  out  to  him 
pleadingly. 

"Why,  darling,  I  don't  understand  you."  He 
tried  to  look  into  her  eyes.  "I  thought  you  wanted 
to  be  rich — to  live  in  New  York  and  do  all  the  things 
you  had  planned?" 

"Oh,  no — no."  She  threw  her  arms  about  him. 
"I  just  want  to  stay  here — with  my  babies,  and  my 
husband,  and — my  happiness!" 

"Well,  if  that's  the  way  you  feel  about  it,  sweet- 
heart, then  I'll  tell  you  the  truth,"  Hugh  answered. 
"I  fibbed  to  you  just  now — I  didn't  succeed." 

"You  didn't  succeed?"  Her  eyes  sparkled  as  she 
asked  the  question. 

"No,  dear."  He  shook  his  head.  "I'm  an  utter 
failure.  My  invention  isn't  worth  anything  just  yet. 
I'm  afraid  we'll  just  have  to  remain  poor — for 
awhile." 

"Oh,  I'm  so  happy!"  Marjorie  exclaimed  joy- 
ously. "But  we  can  never  be  poor,  dear,  while  we 
possess  love,  the  greatest  fortune  in  the  world!" 

"Sweetheart!"  He  kissed  her  again.  "Tell  me 
what  it  was  that  made  you  change  your  ideas?" 

"It  was  just  the  book  I  read  to-night,  dear — that's 
all,"  she  answered  solemnly.  "The  book  God  must 
have  sent  me  in  time — just  to  open  my  eyes." 

"This  little  thing?"  He  picked  up  the  volume 
from  where  Marjorie  had  dropped  it  on  the  table. 
He  read  the  title  aloud.  "Hmmph!  'Building 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       313 

Castles!'  Why  that  should  have  pleased  you,  dear," 
he  remarked,  with  a  grin.  "Isn't  that  what  you're 
always  doing?" 

"No  more!  No  more!"  Marjorie  shook  her 
head  till  the  blonde  curls  threatened  to  loosen  their 
holding  pins.  "I  have  all  the  castle  I  want  right 
here.  Why,  just  look  around  this  room!  Isn't  it 
wonderful?" 

Hugh  glanced  carelessly  about. 

"It's  a  comfortable  enough  kitchen,"  he  remarked 
casually,  "but  I  don't  see  any  particular  wonders 
about  it." 

"Oh,  don't  you?"  Marjorie's  nose  went  up  in  the 
air  and  she  sniffed.  "Why,  just  look  at  this  chair!" 
And  she  whirled  the  wicker  rocker  she  had  sat  in 
during  the  evening  before  him.  "It's  a  genuine 
Louis  the  Fifteenth,"  she  informed  him  solemnly. 
"That  mirror," — her  hand  swept  in  a  gesture  to  in- 
clude it,  "yes,  I  mean  the  one  you  use  to  shave  by  in 
the  cold  weather, — but  it's  from  the  salon  of  the 
Empress  Josephine,  nevertheless.  And  this  table, — " 
the  hand  came  to  rest  on  the  small  table  on  which 
rested  her  books  and  the  basket  of  neglected  mend- 
ing, '  —why  famous  men  and  women  have  gath- 
ered  "  ' 

Hugh  swept  her  to  him,  ending  her  explanations 
with  the  bear  hug  his  wife  always  welcomed. 

"Little  witch!"  he  teased.  "Seeing  everything 
just  the  way  you  want  it.  But  tell  me,  seriously, 
sweetheart,"  and  he  lifted  her  face  to  look  closely 
into  her  eyes.  "I  know  you've  been  living  on  the 
heights  for  some  time  through  your  belief  in  me. 
Tell  me,  have  you  really  decided  you  don't  want  to 
live  in  New  York?" 

His  wife  snuggled  closer  to  him. 

'The    heights!"     she    repeated.      "No,    HugK 
'dear, — I'm  willing  to  let  who  will  live  on  the  hill- 


'314       THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT 

tops  of  life.  For  me,  the  valley.  The  only  place 
I  wish  to  live  the  rest  of  my  life  is  in  the  Valley  of 
Content." 

For  a  long  moment — a  moment  when  all  misun- 
derstanding was  wiped  out  forever — Hugh  Benton 
held  his  wife  close  to  him.  Then  he  leaned  over  and 
placed  a  kiss  on  her  bright  hair  that  swept  his 
bosom. 

"You've  chosen  the  only  place  where  you  can  al- 
ways be  happy,  dear,"  he  said  softly. 

His  head  came  up  with  a  start.  Marjorie  drew 
away  from  him,  to  listen  sharply. 

"Did  you  hear  something?"  he  asked  her,  his  eyes 
on  the  bedroom  door. 

With  finger  uplifted  for  caution,  Marjorie  Ben- 
ton  tiptoed  to  the  door  from  behind  which  had  come 
the  disturbing  sound,  and  softly  turned  the  knob. 
Hugh  watched  her  with  eyes  of  love  as  she  disap- 
peared. But  in  a  moment  she  was  back  with  him, 
the  door  as  softly  closed  behind  her. 

"It  was  Elinor,"  she  told  him.  "She  was  sleeping 
on  her  back.  Something  made  her  cry  in  her  sleep." 

"Dreaming,  I  suppose — just  like  her  mother!" 
In  his  light-hearted  relief,  Hugh  could  not  refrain 
from  teasing,  but  Marjorie  only  laughed. 

"Dreaming  that  Howard  had  broken  her  dolly, 
probably,"  she  agreed.  "Precious  baby!  I  turned 
her  on  her  side  and  tucked  her  in.  She'll  sleep  till 
morning.  Ready  for  tea,  dear?" 

Hugh  nodded  and  slumped  with  a  contented  sigh 
into  his  seat  beside  the  little  table  where  Marjorie 
had  placed  her  best  chocolate  plates  and  the  cups  for 
their  tea.  Before  the  stove,  Marjorie  squinted  a 
moment  at  her  fire.  Then  she  lifted  the  stove  lid 
and  carefully  placed  a  shovelful  of  coal  on  the  half 
dying  embers.  The  tea  pot  was  ready  with  its  aro- 
matic herbs.  She  had  seen  to  that,  too.  She  lifted 


THE  VALLEY  OF  CONTENT       315 

the  kettle  of  boiling  water  from  where  it  sang  its 
contented  tune  on  the  back  of  the  polished  stove. 

Then  a  sudden  memory  came  to  her.  She  turned, 
uplifted  kettle  in  her  hand  to  the  husband  who 
watched  her  with  prideful  eyes. 

"Oh,  Hugh,  dear,"  she  remembered,  "on  your 
way  to  work  in  the  morning,  will  you  stop  in  at 
Thompson's  and  send  me  out  twelve  yards  of  tennis 
flannel?  I  must  make  some  new  nighties  for  the 
babies.  And  be  sure  to  send  pink;  it  always  washes 
so  much  better  than  blue " 


THE    END. 


A     000110688     9 


